Near the Vistula river, a small road winds around it, deep within the infamous Black Forest. The gnarled, ghastly gray trees crunch together at their crests; old bones pushing out of the ragged skin. Voluminous, dismal shadows there are perfect kindles for the stories to issue forth from. One of the myriad of fantasies being about the unusual, bright gold flowers which blossomed only at midnight. They are said to be so tempting to any traveler that one could not resist plucking a bloom, and then taking it's even more alluring sister and continue to stray off the path so. Innocent that myth would have been, but for the flowers always lead the fools to Baba Yaga, guardian to the Next World's Gates. A horrible witch she is in all respects, who would gut any man like a rabbit and use his skull as one of her ground lanterns littering the stony paths and yard within her cottage's fence. They say that the lights coming from those skulls could fly out and snatch the very soul from one's breath! Then again, that is only if you are a superstitious person. . .
Helena Reppah; a young woman, na‹ve to the rest of the world's corruption; is not afraid of the Forest's secrets and haunting fairy tales. The only reason for this red cape-d girl's willingness to travel thee dark, spectral Lonely Man's Trail through the foreboding Black Forest to her grandmother's house is because of an unearthly attraction she feels for this Wood and it's ghosts. In fact, late at night she entertained the idea that her grandmother, living alone and so deep within the forest, is the witch Baba Yaga herself.
Once she had arrived late to her grandmother's cottage, and all around her yard, up along the walk-ways to her charming, moon-flowered porch, little black candles lit themselves as soon as the sun set itself and the forest darkened.
Helena came from her memory in time to dance gracefully back onto the path, sending her red cap and intricate festival skirt swirling into motion. In childish awe, she held back her sandy, whisped braids back from her face so she could spin again, dizzying herself with the blur of bright reds, greens, blue purples yellows embroidered against her black skirt. Nimbly, the brown walking boots came to a soft stop; swishing the skirt back and forth, and carried her straightforward again. Her toes curled against the soles of her shoes to keep her balance in the revolving world. Especially what was loping exceedingly silent and close to her. As she continued, the creature move with such stealth that none of her senses detected it within the forest's secretive, molted rushes.
****
Close, so excruciatingly close. All this musty, thick morning he'd been chasing prey, finding and ripping apart only two, scrawny adolescent rabbits; and now, his nose smelt bigger prey, much larger, meatier prey. His gray-pink tongue hung casually out of the side of his mouth, flopping over canines as he rose and fell in pace.
Helena Reppah; a young woman, na‹ve to the rest of the world's corruption; is not afraid of the Forest's secrets and haunting fairy tales. The only reason for this red cape-d girl's willingness to travel thee dark, spectral Lonely Man's Trail through the foreboding Black Forest to her grandmother's house is because of an unearthly attraction she feels for this Wood and it's ghosts. In fact, late at night she entertained the idea that her grandmother, living alone and so deep within the forest, is the witch Baba Yaga herself.
Once she had arrived late to her grandmother's cottage, and all around her yard, up along the walk-ways to her charming, moon-flowered porch, little black candles lit themselves as soon as the sun set itself and the forest darkened.
Helena came from her memory in time to dance gracefully back onto the path, sending her red cap and intricate festival skirt swirling into motion. In childish awe, she held back her sandy, whisped braids back from her face so she could spin again, dizzying herself with the blur of bright reds, greens, blue purples yellows embroidered against her black skirt. Nimbly, the brown walking boots came to a soft stop; swishing the skirt back and forth, and carried her straightforward again. Her toes curled against the soles of her shoes to keep her balance in the revolving world. Especially what was loping exceedingly silent and close to her. As she continued, the creature move with such stealth that none of her senses detected it within the forest's secretive, molted rushes.
****
Close, so excruciatingly close. All this musty, thick morning he'd been chasing prey, finding and ripping apart only two, scrawny adolescent rabbits; and now, his nose smelt bigger prey, much larger, meatier prey. His gray-pink tongue hung casually out of the side of his mouth, flopping over canines as he rose and fell in pace.