Lizzie was frightened in her new bed. First because said bed was a crib. A crib! Because she was now a toddler! In other words, a helpless baby! At the mercy of a witch who had sent her brother somewhere completely unknown! After regressing him to a six-year-old. What could he do in that state? Hers wasn't much better either, on the contrary! She had to do something, even in her diminished state! Maybe she could escape or something? Because the witch obviously had no intention of offering her back her clothes in the morning. Or if she did, Lizzie would go through a lot of humiliation in reliving her babyhood. So she had to get away, and fast.
But as Lizzie was racking her brains as to how exactly she could escape a crib precisely designed to keep toddlers in, she started to feel a grumbling in her stomach. Then a pain. The sort she got when she was hungry. And indeed, she was getting hungry. Very hungry. It had been a while she'd last eaten, after all. She could go for fries and a burger. She felt even hungrier at the mere idea of such a meal. Or chocolate bars. Or a can of a fizzy drink. Or cookies. But then, without realizing it, she started to think not of candy, marshmallows or lollipops but warm milk, soft cookies easy to chew, sugary porridge, or soup. Or bread dipped in apple sauce. Yes, creamy porridge would be nice. With warm milk with honey. Straight from a sippy cup. All these thoughts made Lizzie even hungrier and incapable of refraining her new needs, she cried for help. Surely someone would come and feed her because she could do nothing else. All she wanted was food, no matter whom gave it to her, her mind intent upon one basic goal, quite normal though for a toddler.