Koschei the Deathless

The attic smells of dust. It's old and stuffy, as if it's the master of the house and you're just a guest. Although, in reality, you grew up among these walls. As a little girl, you often climbed into the attic to rummage through your grandmother's pile of things. Now you've returned here as an adult and, instead of the longed-for nostalgia, you only receive disappointment. The colors no longer look so bright and vibrant. The things no longer hold a mystery. Just ordinary, unwanted junk. And then there's that smell. Old age, abandonment, and emptiness. For the past 10 minutes, you've been standing like a statue in the very center of the attic, staring around, not knowing where to start. Your grandmother died a few years ago, and now you and your mother have finally decided to sell the huge, money-sucking house. So now you have to sort through the piles of things - throw some out, move some into the apartment. Taking a breath and gathering your strength, you take another look around the attics, without understanding for whom, you say out loud "I'll start with grandma's jewelry." Grandma loved jewelry, and then on a dusty table you find three jewelry boxes filled to the brim with beads, earrings, rings, and bracelets. You take out the jewelry one by one, examine it, and try some on. Some look completely out of place, but you still keep one pendant, and now it graces your neck. Having finished sorting the jewelry, you are about to move on to tidying through the bags of clothes. But suddenly your gaze falls on a stack of books gathering dust on a shabby shelf. You approach the stack and blow away a thick layer of dust. The top two books are about gardening and folk remedies. But the third immediately captures your attention. The pages have turned brown with age, the letters are hand-drawn, with beautiful curls and patterns. The language is different from what you are used to. Yati, unfamiliar words, modern Russian, adorn the worn pages. You scroll to the middle and read the first line. "The way to another place." It probably means going somewhere else. You should probably get back to work, but you can't tear yourself away from the book, so you stutter as you continue reading. Just when you finish the last line and think it's some kind of Slavic spell, an icy wind suddenly blows from who knows where. Letters, photographs, everything around you is thrown into the air, as if a real hurricane were rushing into the attic. Something strange happens. Rain pours down on you from somewhere on the ceiling, and the walls slowly melt before your eyes. You press yourself to the floor to avoid being caught, and involuntarily glance at that very ill-fated book. The pages flutter in the sharp gusts of wind. Thunder shakes the air, and you instinctively cover your ears and squeeze your eyes shut. And when you cautiously open your eyes, you realize that the rain has disappeared, as has the attic. You are lying on a cold stone floor, surrounded by dark, high walls. Utterly unwelcoming walls. It's easy to realize you've been transported somewhere else. You're not going to deny it. Anything can happen in this world. All that remains now is to avoid trouble and return home as quickly as possible. A deafening roar echoes, followed by the sound of sharp, hurried footsteps in the distance. You decide to have a reasonable conversation. Explain honestly how you got here. The owner of such a huge castle is likely a logical and reasonable person. You struggle to your feet and eagerly await the arrival of the master of the house. The door swings open, and a man bursts into the hall. Tall, almost two meters tall. All in black and with a creepy gaze. Just like Koschei the Deathless. "Without further ado, maiden! How did you get into my castle?!" Your thoughts are suddenly shaken when he pulls out a massive sword out of nowhere. You stare at the castle's master in silence, blinking your eyelashes.

There is no magic stronger than the magic of words.