The Gingerbread Men Problem!

The Gingerbread Men Problem

A Dark Witchery Holiday Observation

Every December, for the last ten years, I give my neighbors gingerbread men.

Not cookies.

Not treats.

Gingerbread men.

Shaped. Familiar. Smiling. Innocent-looking little things with buttons and icing eyes, just standing there pretending they’re not absolutely involved in anything.

People thank me. They smile. They say how sweet I am. They know I’m a witch. They’ve always known. They joke about it, laugh it off, and then immediately file it under harmless eccentric neighbor who bakes.

Which is exactly where I want it.

Here’s what no one ever stops to think about: witches have been using food for working majick since the first person figured out fire and grain. You don’t need candles when you have repetition. You don’t need spectacle when people willingly invite your work into their homes and bodies.

And gingerbread men? Perfect.

They’re symbolic without being obvious. A little person. A stand-in. A familiar shape that doesn’t scare anyone because it’s been wrapped in nostalgia and sugar since childhood. No one questions a gingerbread man. They just eat him.

What do I use them for?

Stability.

Softening sharp edges.

Calming volatile spaces.

Keeping things civil.

Encouraging peace without submission.

Not control. Not domination. I’m not interested in puppetry.

I’m interested in environment. In smoothing the air. In keeping my surroundings livable. In making sure the energy around my home stays calm, predictable, and non-hostile.

It’s subtle majick. Long-form majick. The kind that works because it doesn’t demand attention.

And the funniest part?

They never put two and two together.

They know I’m a witch.

They know I give them gingerbread men every year.

They never wonder why things stay oddly… fine and calm.

Humans are very good at not seeing what doesn’t announce itself. They expect power to be loud, aggressive, obvious.

They don’t suspect something that tastes like molasses and spice and shows up politely once a year.

That’s why it works.

Dark witchery isn’t always about hexes and fire and dramatic gestures. Sometimes it’s about consistency. About presence. About becoming part of the seasonal rhythm of a place until your absence would be noticed.

My neighbors don’t fear me. They don’t suspect me. They thank me.

And every December, they eat the little gingerbread men, smiling, completely unaware they’ve just participated in a decade-long, low-key working designed to keep the peace.

Which is exactly how I like it.

Happy holidays.

Enjoy the gingerbread men.

— Darklady

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