Gwendolyn Gobstopper's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

The wish-candy sat in a glass dish on Gwendolyn's counter. It glowed amber, gold gears turning inside it, and it hummed each time she passed. She had made one wish and could give it to only one person. But she did not know anyone's true need. She stayed behind her counter all day, every day. Customers came, bought toffee, and left. She weighed them by their coins, not their hearts. "How do I choose," she said, "when I never leave this room?" The bell jingled. An old woman swept in, dark blue and gold trailing behind her. Star ornaments clicked in her silver hair. She held a tarot deck in one hand and dealt cards onto the counter without asking. This was Casandra, Gwendolyn's friend, a medium who heard voices no one else could. She tilted her head and laughed at the empty air. "Yes, yes, I see it," Casandra said to no one. Then to Gwendolyn: "You have made something with your whole heart. And now you hide it behind glass." "I don't know who deserves it," Gwendolyn said. "I only know the people who walk in here. That's not enough." Casandra turned a card. A tired woman bent over a washtub. "You wait for need to find you. Need does not knock. Need cannot spare the coin." She tapped the counter. "Someone will come today. She will not buy a thing. Watch for her." Gwendolyn frowned. "That's the whole city out there. I can't read it from a chair." "Then rise from the chair," Casandra said. She gathered her cards. "The candy holds your longing. Give it where longing runs deepest. But you must go and see." She laughed softly at the air again, then left. Gwendolyn stood alone with the humming candy. Casandra was right. She had built a life inside four walls. She knew the taste of every jar and nothing of the streets. For seventeen years she let the world come to her, filtered through the counter. That was why she was stuck. She made a decision. She lifted the glowing candy and wrapped it in wax paper. She hung the closed sign in the window for the first time in years. Her hands shook as she turned the key. Then she stepped outside. The street was loud and cold. A woman knelt near the wall, scrubbing laundry in a bucket, knuckles raw and red. She did not look up at the fine shop or its owner. She had no coin to spare and knew it. Gwendolyn's chest tightened. She had spent the whole day guessing who suffered. Now she saw one person plainly. But the candy held only one wish, and the street was full of raw knuckles and bent backs. Choosing one meant refusing the rest. Gwendolyn gripped the wax paper and stepped toward the woman, understanding at last that finding need was easy. Choosing whose need would be the hard part.