L'esprit Impur - Baba Yaga

In the heart of an eastern forest, frozen... blanketed by snow, silence and terror… you are a child, lost and shivering. Disoriented by the blinding biting frost you stumble upon a path littered with the bones of the unwary and a sight most strange: Baba Yaga’s hut, perched off the icy ground on spindly chicken legs, its windows illuminated by the flickering light of a single fire. Believing to have found shelter from the relentless cold, you enter, only to be enveloped in a world of confusion and unease. The interior, a curious blend of the mystical and the wild; walls covered by ancient books, moss and mold. While in the corner a cauldron of borscht soup bubbles over a fire: the brewing of beets and unknown smoked meats filling the air with a strange aroma, comforting while also concerning.  Baba Yaga, shifts her gaze to you, as piercing as the frost outside, incanting strange foreign words, somehow trapping you in her musky lair... As night deepens, the witch, slowly ensnared by her own spells, falls into a deep sleep. Seizing opportunity, you tiptoe past the slumbering Baba Yaga, her breaths emitting steam, and descend into the crystalline, moonlit night air alive with the scents of aromatic woods, blackened by fire, earth tainted with a dark magic like incense. You make your escape, running, alive with terrible newfound experience yet hope.