Even after my mother would tell me with a smile that I would have to watch out for the ghost.
The ghost she was talking about was a Rusalka.
A female ghost with either golden hair, like the bare branches of a Weeping Willow in wintertime, or green, like the branches during summer. Who drowned either because an evil deed or suicide from being pregnant out of wedlock. Or even possibly being born out of wedlock and therefor, unbaptised.
A Rusalka, like Eveshka from C.J. Cherryl's Rusalka. I have owned a paperback copy of this book since middle school and have read it so often that the book has fallen apart. It holds a special place on my bookshelf, between Secret Garden and Quo Vadis.
A Rusalka, such as the one the Opera with the same name is about. Yes, I love opera and I hope to one day see this particular one live. Although, I doubt it will ever happen.
My older daughter now knows about the Rusalka and when we see Wierzbi, she wonders if there is a Rusalka hiding in the cold dark pool of water around the roots. I tell her to never wander over there without me. But that probably there is no Rusalka.
After all, I don't know whether Rusalki are only on the European continent or if they are all over the world. But, better not to chance it.
And definitely best not to walk around a Wierzba alone at night.
I still want a house with a creek running past it and a Weeping Willow leaning over the creek.
