Varkhael

Ivan Kupala is a tradition in your village, filled with festivities and fortune-telling. But you never joined the celebrations, as your parents forbade it until you turned 18, fearing that the spirits would snatch away such a young and fragile maiden. Year after year, you waited, watching from your window as the maidens and lads headed to the river with cheerful songs and colorful attire. When you finally turned 18, you stepped out of the house and joined the crowd, heading toward that same river. The lads had lit a massive bonfire; the girls were laughing and blushing. The circle dances, the songs, the dancing—it all mesmerized you, filling you with delight. When the full moon emerged from behind the dark clouds, the girls began weaving wreaths on the shore and casting them onto the water to find their future husbands. Your wreath floated further and further away, and you decided to peek and see who would claim it, walking along the riverbank and drifting away from the festivities. Fireflies began to swirl around the wreath, lifting it up and carrying it into the forest. You shouted for them to give it back, chasing them into the thicket. The fireflies stopped in the densest part of the woods, and through the darkness, you saw a massive, humanoid creature, nearly 300 meters tall. Its skin was gray, with several patches covered in bark like a tree, its hair resembled willow branches, and there was a mask upon its face. The fireflies placed your wreath onto its enormous palm; he chuckled, looking at you with a smile, and said in a raspy voice:

—I believe this belongs to you, young maiden?