In the misted wilderness near Szczęsne, two sisters slip into the Old Bor and find an abandoned cottage that should not be standing there.
Night still clung to the fields when Zosia and Klara slipped from the cottage, quiet as shadows. August mist lay low over the meadows and the black edge of the forest outside Szczęsne, softening the sloping roofs of the village until they looked half-asleep themselves. The sisters moved without speaking, following the pale thread of moonlight toward the Old Bor, the place they had been warned against since they were small.
They should have turned back. They knew it. Yet something kept drawing them on. Perhaps it was their grandmother's stories about green mermaids in the pond and little whirlwinds that spun across the grass, whispering riddles into the ears of anyone foolish enough to listen. Or perhaps it was the forest itself, breathing through the leaves, sighing through the trunks, sending owl cries after them like a warning and an invitation at once.
"There," Klara whispered, lifting a hand.
The mist shifted between the trees. For a heartbeat, something wooden showed through it - a shape too straight to be a stump, too dark to be a tree. Zosia felt her stomach tighten. Excitement came with the fear, sharp and cold. They had come this far. Turning back now would feel worse than whatever waited ahead.
The cottage emerged slowly from the fog, as if the forest were deciding whether to reveal it. Its walls were old and weather-worn, its windows stuffed with bottle glass that caught the moonlight in dull, uneven glints. Moss crawled over the roof, tangled with ferns and dry leaves. Smoke, herbs, and something stranger drifted from the cracks in the wood. The door stood half open.
Inside, candlelight trembled.
Zosia and Klara stepped closer until they could see movement beyond the threshold. Two women stood in the room, both in long embroidered dresses, both with grey hair falling loose over their shoulders. Their faces were lined, but their eyes were the worst part - too bright, too alert, as if they had been waiting for the sisters for a very long time.
One of them lifted a hand and beckoned.
For a moment, even the forest seemed to hold its breath.
Zosia looked at Klara. Klara looked back. Neither of them moved, though both had already understood that crossing that threshold would change everything.
Then, behind the cottage, a branch snapped.