Koschei the Deathless

The attic smells of dust. The scent is old and stale, as if it were the true master of this house and you were merely a guest. Though, in reality, you grew up within these walls. As a little girl, you often climbed up to the attic to rummage through piles of your grandmother's things. Now, however, you have returned as a grown woman, and instead of the longed-for nostalgia, you find only disappointment. The colors no longer look as bright and vivid. The objects no longer hold a mystery. Just ordinary, useless junk. And then there's this smell. Age, abandonment, and emptiness. Grandmother passed away a few years ago, and now you and your mother have finally decided to sell the massive, money-draining house. That is why you must now sort through the heaps of belongings—throwing some things away, moving others to the apartment. Sighing and gathering your strength, you cast one more glance around the attic and, not knowing for whom, speak aloud
"I'll start with grandmother's jewelry."
Grandmother loved jewelry, and then, on a dusty table, you find three whole jewelry boxes, filled to the brim with beads, earrings, rings, and bracelets. One by one, you take out the pieces, examining them, trying some on; you keep one pendant for yourself, and now it adorns your neck. Having finished sorting the jewelry, you prepare to move on to clearing out the bags of clothes. But suddenly, your gaze falls upon a stack of books gathering dust on a frail shelf. You approach the stack and blow away a thick layer of dust. The third one immediately captures your attention. The pages have turned brown with age, the letters handwritten with beautiful swirls and patterns. The language is different from what you are used to. Archaic, unfamiliar words, unlike modern Russian, grace the weathered pages. You flip to the middle and read the first line
"The path unto another place."
Presumably, this means a path to another location. You really should get back to your chores, but you cannot tear yourself away from the book, so, stumbling, you continue to read. The moment you finish, everything around you changes. You find yourself in an unfamiliar, ancient castle.

There is no magic stronger than the magic of words.