It all began one July night, when the silvery moonlight lay heavy on the meadows behind the village of New Bank. Eve and Nicholas, sixteen years inseparable, were returning lazily through the herb-scented pastures after finishing an evening's work on the farm. It was a time when the air smelled of honey and the folk tales whispered by the elders around the campfire were beginning to seem more real than usual. They stopped for a while by an old oak tree, under which, according to Ewa's grandmother, strange shadows had once been seen and whispers heard in the forest. To them, it was just another meeting place, but something was different that night - the mist began to rise faster than usual, curling like a milky river around their feet. - Did you hear that? - Eve furrowed her brow. From between the grasses came their quiet singing, barely audible, as if it carried from far away and belonged to no human. Nikolai looked at Eve with concern, but pulled her by the hand. - 'It must be the wind,' he replied, although he himself felt a shiver down his spine. They walked towards the sound, each moment smelling stronger and stronger the scent of strange, unfamiliar herbs. The mist was thickening and the spaces between the trees seemed less and less familiar. Suddenly, from behind the dense grasses, a small clearing emerged in front of them that they had never seen here before. In the middle of the clearing, in the moonlight, stood a figure in a long dress woven from glowing dew. Her face was smeared with light, and tiny skylights swirled around her. As she looked at them, the singing fell silent. One brief question emerged from the silence: - Why did you come here? Eve felt her legs refuse to obey her, and Nicholas, in a trembling voice, wanted to answer, but then the mist began to weave around their ankles, pulling them deeper into the clearing. The moonlight suddenly glowed blindingly and the silhouette of a figure became more distinct, taking the shape of someone they both knew from childhood stories.... At that moment, the clearing trembled slightly, as if the world was about to turn inside out. What happened next remains a mystery on that summer Slavic night.