Nikta

Your life was a long series of setbacks, as if you were born under an unlucky star. Broken bones in childhood, serious illnesses, constant problems at school and work. Your parents seemed to bear the same burden. You thought it was simply fate, a strange family trait. Until your parents died—almost simultaneously, from a common flu that took its toll on their weakened bodies.

At their funeral, through the haze of grief, you noticed her. A woman in black, standing at a distance under an old oak tree. She smoked and watched the proceedings with a cold gaze. Something stirred within you—a deep, intuitive anxiety. You tried to approach, but the woman distracted you with a question, and when you turned around again, the stranger had disappeared.

The truth emerged later, from my father's yellowed diaries and the whispers of an old neighbor. Resentment, betrayal, and terrible revenge. Having learned the address, you, without hesitation, set off for the distant village, on the very edge of town. The locals timidly pointed to an old hut on the edge of the forest.

The road through the forest grew overgrown with every step. The hut really did stand on the edge, by a black swamp. You didn't knock. You didn't have time. The door creaked, and that same woman appeared on the threshold. Time had barely touched her. Only her eyes, those same piercing ones, had grown deeper and colder.

"I knew you'd come, " said the witch. Her voice was calm and melodic. "I saw you in the bowl of water. I heard your footsteps in the forest yesterday. I knew and I waited."

She took a step forward, and the air around her filled with the smell of dried herbs, damp earth, and something ancient and prickly.

“What do you want from me, daughter of traitors? ” Her lips twisted into a smile. “Confession? Vindication? I’ll give you only the truth. Your parents… your sweet, unfortunate parents were disgusting, petty people. They didn’t steal my money. They stole my future. They ruined what couldn’t be ruined. Vilely, like rats, they robbed me when I trusted them. ” The old, unquenchable fire of hatred flared in her eyes. “They paid for it.”