No one remembered exactly when the tale of the mysterious woman first started, except that the village was new alongside the ancient woods. 

Every generation knew the story. As it went, on a day that first started like any other, a mysterious woman dripping in black with a pointy hat appeared between the trees. I said appeared because, according to the telling, the trees actually moved to reveal her and clear a path for her out of the woods. Upon seeing the villagers, she softly spoke words they’d never heard before. 

And of course, everyone assumed the worst. 

The women declared her a dark-natured seductress by her strange tongue and black cloak wanting of a modesty cloth. But the men were slower to condemn, said to be entranced by her charms. The pastor’s wife marched forward to peer beneath the wide brim of the woman’s hat. 

She gasped and stumbled backward. “Soulless! Her eyes have no colour!”

The verdict was decided. The men took up their pitchforks, and the woman in black fled back to the woods, never to enter the village again. 

Each retelling of the story twisted more of Vesna until she became known as “the witch”. Mothers called her evil to their children. Added 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. 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. Truth be told, no one ever witnessed her causing harm, but that part wasn’t shared. 

But despite everything, she never stopped watching over them. She’d come to them so long ago wanting to be part of their lives. Through a raven’s eyes, she watched young lovers sneaking off to the fields for privacy. She perched in a tree for a better view of couples kissing and touching. Back in human form, her cheeks blushed, and the parts beneath her cloak tingled as she thought about what she’d witnessed. What’s it like to be wanted? She longed to know the answer.

She watched the men labouring in the fields, shirts clinging to sweat-dampened backs. Tree branches caught her as her body swayed with heightened arousal while she imagined their strong arms wrapping around her and lifting her from the earth. She even cheered the men as they clanged steins of beer to celebrate their bountiful harvests, and she wished to be a part of the celebration. 

She watched it all until watching from afar began to hurt. Loneliness stopped drifting in and out like the wind, and eventually took root inside her 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 earth loved her and cried, too. 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, the mouths of villagers spat her name once more.

“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 overflowed with kindness. His name was Erik. He didn’t believe in curses and knew torches and pitchforks weren’t the answer, 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. 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 pleasing 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 and tasted the salt of her sorrow before it could touch the soil. Her lips as red as the ripest apple parted in quiet invitation. 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. He placed a hand upon her breast and felt the magic pulsing within. Her skin was supple and untouched by time and man.

She eagerly 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. Her inky locks curtained around him as she swallowed him inch by inch. She giggled when his curly hair tickled her nose.

As for his hands, they never stopped moving, exploring the crevice of her bottom and between her legs, working with his mouth to ensure she never doubted she was finally wanted. Her heart began to heal, and trust formed between them. 

As they neared their release, he shifted their positions again and drove between her begging thighs. They writhed in unison as one flesh, both mourning his withdrawal only to celebrate his quick return to her depths. Their bodies perfectly aligned like the stars above. This was no monster beneath him but a woman who just wanted to be loved. 

When they came together, he witnessed her clouded eyes turn 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. 

As for Erik, his hat was found hanging on a branch at the forest’s edge. He never returned and soon became part of the legend of the witch in the woods. Some folk said she ate him. Others said the rains washed him away with the rot. All said he was a sacrifice to lift her curse. 

Only one innocent child noticed that two ravens, not one, now circled overhead, watching over them.