It’s been a disorienting fall in Greenwich Village. In a neighborhood heavily invested in notions of independence and history, landmark merchants have been shifting position in alarming numbers. Murray’s Cheese Shop moved its Brie and Cabralas to bigger digs across Bleecker Street. Joe’s Pizza gave up its familiar perch at the corner of Bleecker and Carmine in favor of an address a few doors down – the joint held onto its ratty old red awnings as a comfort to regulars. And A. Zito’s Bakery, immortalized by photographer Berenice Abbott, now only sells bread in the oven-hot dreams of Village old-timers.

The latest shift in Greenwich gastronomic geography is a bit further west. At 118-120 Christopher St., across from the Lucille Lortel Theatre and under a charmingly handmade chocolate brown sign, has sat since 1923 the quirkily spelled and locally beloved Li-Lac Chocolates. On January 3, the store will close; it will reopen a couple days later at the southeast corner of Jane Street and Eighth Avenue.

Owner Martha Bond does not need a move to lend excitement to her life. It is, after all, the holiday season, and she makes candy for a living. The Sun met her on December 13, a very bad date to schedule an interview. “This is the absolute worst day of the year,” Ms. Bond explained, her eyes wearily floating over endless boxes of truffles. “It’s the Monday before the Monday before the holiday. So everyone decides to put in their orders before it’s too late.”

Indeed, the atmosphere in Li-Lac’s cramped back rooms was intense. No prancing, bon bon-toting elves here. The cocoa-and-sugar saturated air was charged with concentration, workers tying up gold boxes with red bows, a chef funneling molten ganache into gunmetal trays of 40 molds apiece.

At one counter, an employee loaded Texas-bound sweets into a clear plastic bag. Ms. Bond looked worried. “You’d better take these to the post office down the street before it closes at 6,” she instructed.

“That post office closes at 5:30,” the worker replied.

“It does? We’re too late then. You’ll have to go to the one on Eighth Avenue.”

Not going to Texas this year will be Ms. Bond. She usually spends the holidays there with her daughter’s family. But the move is taking up too much time, so she will spend Christmas at her Charles Street home and send her presents through the post. They wouldn’t be chocolates, would they? She sighed. “I have people who expect it. I’d be kicked out of the family if I didn’t.”

The change of address wasn’t her idea. Given the choice, she’d remain on Christopher, where for a few days more Li-Lac can claim to be one of the city’s only chocolatiers to manufacture its goodies on the premises – the main reason Li-Lac has always been a byword for wonderfully fresh confections. “It’s R-E-N-T,” Ms. Bond said. “Rent. You can’t pay over $100 a square foot for a manufacturing space. You just can’t do it.

“My brother, who passed away in 1990 – in the early ’80s he used to say, ‘One of these days we’re not going to be able to afford the luxury of manufacturing in Manhattan.’ His prediction has come true.” (Beginning in March, the candy will be made in a factory in Sunset Park, Brooklyn).

Edward Bond, a former caterer, bought the store in 1977 from one Marguerite Watt; Ms. Bond was drafted into sugary service in 1981. “He used to buy chocolates at Li-Lac,” Ms. Bond said. “He would chit-chat with Ms. Watt. She liked him. She said he always seemed to be what she thought of as the typical Southern gentleman. One day she said to him, ‘I’m going to sell this business, but I’m not going to sell it to just anybody.’ I think I might sell it to you if you’re interested.” He was. First, however, he had to prove himself through a nine month apprenticeship with the shop’s candymaker, who had been trained by none other than founder George Demetrias. (The hazy explanation for the business’s name is that Demetrias, who learned his trade in France, liked the purple bloom in question.)

Martha Bond’s new landlord found her, rather than the other way around. The space, located on a windswept intersection with a Continental air and shared by the burger-proud Corner Bistro, seemed right. “I wanted to stay in the old neighborhood,” she said. “I felt I couldn’t leave the Village. It was a very difficult decision to leave a place where you’ve been for 81 years. We have third-generation people coming, people whose grandmother went to school at P.S. 3 and used to come in for a kiddie pop.”

The recipe for that pop has remained the same since 1923. Demetrias devised many of the classic treats patrons have grown used to, such as the almond bark and the signature fudge. Over the ensuing years, Belgian and French competitors have invaded the New York market. Most recently, the arrival of Paris-based fondant legend Debauve & Gallais caused a sensation. But Ms. Bond intends to follow the lead set by the man she calls, with Southern-style deference, “Mr. George.”

“We’re kind of a world to ourselves. Right now there’s a trend in infused chocolates. Flavors like hot pepper and herbs. People ask me if we’re going to do that. No. We do what we do; we do what we’ve always done. It works. I’m not interested in fads.” She also feels Li-Lac differs from its rivals in one other significant area: No ocean separates the candymaker from the candy counter. “Some people make their assortments for Christmas in September and they freeze it. Even this time of year, we’re constantly making fresh chocolate.”

Ms. Bond has tried to evoke the soon-to-be-lost Christopher Street shop in Li-Lac’s new location. The original counters will be retained. The windowsills are lined with marble similar to the kind that tops the kitchen worktables in the old place. And, of course, the old photograph of Mr. George that hangs at 118-120 will make the move. She would like to embellish this nod to history by hanging pictures of Ms. Watt and her brother alongside it.

Ms. Bond would have liked to one day leave the business to her daughter, but the latter “doesn’t like New York.” And so her hopes are pinned on her grandchildren. “I don’t know if I can hang on until they’re old enough. They’re 12 and 13. They say, ‘When we grow up we want to work in the chocolate factory.'” Not, one would assume, a tough call for a 12-year-old.