Down in the valley that bloomed alongside the dense forest, there have long been whispers of a mysterious woman in the woods. Folks say she tried to speak to the townspeople once, walking straight out of the trees, wearing her black cloak and pointy hat. The men hurried the women and little ones inside, then grabbed their pitchforks. She retreated to the woods, never to enter the village again. 

Each retelling of the story twisted more of Vesna until she simply became known as “the witch”. Mothers called her evil to their children. Told tales of her talking to the ravens and petting the tree trunks as if they were alive. One old woman swore her grandfather once heard the trees answer back. Truth be told, no one ever witnessed her causing harm. As for the men, as long as the maize grew tall and the apples stayed tart, they didn’t waste a thought on her anymore. 

But, despite all that, she never stopped watching over them. Through a raven’s eyes, she blushed at young lovers seeking privacy in the fields, giggled at boys and girls chasing butterflies, and offered cheers to the men clanging steins of beer to celebrate their bountiful harvests. She watched it all until watching hurt too badly, and loneliness came about. You see, it doesn’t drift in and out like the wind, but loneliness takes root in your heart.

And on the night of an August moon, she could bear it no more. Her very first tear pooled in her lids, trickled down her cheek, and seeped into the soil. The trees shook from her grief. Leaves fell all at once. Roots sprang from the ground in gnarled, twisted pain. All colour drained from the forest as it became a hue of despair. And as a final protest to her suffering, black rot crawled along the earth toward the village. And well, as you can imagine, people remembered her name again then.  

“Vesna, that witch, has cursed us!” they accused upon seeing the spreading blight across their fields. Gathering in panic, they plotted an attack.

There was one man among them who was overflowing with kindness. His name was Erik. He didn’t believe in curses and knew torches and pitchforks weren’t the answer to any problem, so by the cover of night, he slipped away. 

It wasn’t hard to follow the dying path into the withered woods, but the wiry branches tested his resolve. One snatched his hat off his head, and another feisty limb swatted his backside when he dawdled. He might have laughed had his heart not been thumping so hard. 

When the branches finally parted deeper within the forest, he saw her—the witch. Only she didn’t look like he’d been told. She was slight in stature, sitting on the steps of a quaint cottage. The wide brim of her hat shadowed her face, but upon his approach, she lifted her chin, and he saw the tears trailing down the loveliest face he’d ever seen. 

She didn’t look wicked at all, but fragile. He crouched before her, holding out his hand. Her irises of grey sadness saw hope in his blue eyes. She found him handsome with visible strength in his body and a face framed by dark hair and a beard. 

“I didn’t mean to.” Her lips trembled. “They hate me. I became lonely, and the earth responded.”

“But, I don’t hate you, and I’m here now,” he offered. “I’m Erik.”

“I’m Vesna.” She managed a weak smile. 

Another tear dropped from her lashes, and Erik captured it with his thumb before it could touch the soil. Her lips parted as he tasted the salt of her sorrow. Knowing what he must do—what he now ached to do—he drew her into his arms and kissed her. The forest stirred, and the ground beneath his feet tremored. 

He laid her upon the welcoming earthly floor, and her loneliness peeled away with each layer of black cloth, revealing more of her dark beauty to his watchful eyes. Her body softened as he gathered her closer. She felt the warmth of his heart, and her sobs subsided.

They spoke to one another in the language of touch, and the trees leaned closer. He placed a hand upon her breast and felt the magic pulsing within. She gingerly grasped the source of his heat. When he suckled her nipples, she began to squirm, moaning ancient words. He struggled to control his pace as his fingers traced the gentle curve of her bottom. When she began an exploration of her own, his eyes glazed over. 

He maneuvered them so that they could each taste what they desired. He rolled his tongue inside her as she polished his manhood with her hands before her mouth took over. She swallowed him inch by inch until his curly hair tickled her nose. His hands never stopped moving, stroking every crevice, working with his mouth to ensure she never doubted she was finally seen and wanted. Her heart began to heal, and trust formed between them. 

As they neared their releases, he shifted their positions again and drove between her begging thighs. He didn’t merely fuck her, but made love to her body and Spirit. They writhed in unison as one flesh, both mourning his withdrawal only to celebrate his quick return to her depths. 

They came together. He witnessed her eyes turning green as her cries became incantations, and nature responded. A breeze blew on their heated flesh. Surrounding leaves began to lift and separate, becoming a swirl of red and gold. With an audible sigh, the roots sank back into the soil. The rot receded, and the forest found its colour once more. 

At dawn, the villagers woke to a satisfying rain. The blight was gone, and green veins were returning to their land. They said they’d scared the witch into lifting her curse. 

As for Erik, well, he never returned and soon became part of the legend of the witch in the woods. His hat was found hanging on a branch at the forest’s edge. Some said she ate him. Others said the rains washed him away with the rot. Only one innocent child noticed that two ravens, not one, now circled overhead, watching over them.