The Witch begins on a night filled with storm and tension, with Savely Gykin and his wife Raissa trapped inside their small hut. Wind howls through the cracks, and thunder shakes the rafters, but Raissa remains undisturbed, focused on her needlework. Savely, however, lies restless, brooding and uneasy. He stares at the shadows and mutters under his breath, convinced that his wife has summoned the storm by some arcane means. Their marriage, dry and stagnant, seems to crackle with hidden bitterness, where silence is more telling than words. Savely watches Raissa with suspicion, noting her calm amid chaos. Her beauty, still radiant despite the gloom, unnerves him.

When a lost postman and his driver knock at their door seeking refuge, the evening’s mood shifts. The storm outside now has companions inside, and Savely’s thoughts grow darker. To him, this is not coincidence—it is further evidence of Raissa’s strange power over men. He notes the way she looks at the postman and how her voice softens, her cheeks flush slightly. Raissa does not deny him outright, nor does she encourage him openly, but the air between them is charged. Savely grows more convinced that Raissa’s allure is not natural, that she somehow beckons these men to their home like moths to flame. His accusations fall on deaf ears, yet they are not without foundation in his mind.

The postman, weary and cold, accepts their hospitality, sharing food and silence with his unexpected hosts. Raissa becomes more animated, her eyes lingering on him longer than necessary. She laughs softly, a sound rarely heard in their household, and offers tea with a warmth that surprises even herself. The postman, while guarded, cannot ignore her presence. The flickering light from the hearth casts shifting patterns across her face, making her seem both mysterious and achingly human. For a moment, the storm outside feels like a background hum to the storm that brews between the trio inside the hut.

Savely feels powerless as he watches the subtle interplay. His jealousy is thick, but so is his strange fascination with the situation. He is both repulsed and drawn in by Raissa’s charms, unsure if what she possesses is something wicked or simply beyond his understanding. The postman, sensing the growing tension, rises to leave. Duty calls him back to the trail, but something about Raissa seems to pull at him. He hesitates at the threshold, his hand brushing hers in a fleeting moment neither of them expected.

When the door closes behind him, the room feels colder. Raissa stands silently for a while, her sewing forgotten, her gaze fixed where the postman once stood. Savely, unable to hold back his anger, mumbles another accusation. Raissa, drained, doesn’t respond. She lowers herself to the floor, stares into the fire, and lets the silence speak. Her life, filled with longing and suffocated by Savely’s bitterness, stretches ahead like a road with no end in sight.

Outside, the wind calms, but the emotional storm remains. Savely sits in the corner, unsure of what has passed or what will come. His thoughts are tangled with fear, desire, and resentment. He does not truly understand Raissa, nor the forces that move her heart, but he suspects he never will. She, in turn, remains a mystery—not a witch by spell or potion, but perhaps by the sheer intensity of her buried dreams and unlived life.

This tale, steeped in atmosphere and subtle conflict, captures more than a rural superstition—it reveals the quiet torment of those bound to lives they never chose. Raissa’s magic lies not in hexes, but in her vitality—so rare in her dull surroundings, so threatening to a man like Savely who prefers control to wonder. The story asks whether witchcraft is merely a label for what cannot be controlled or understood, especially when found in a woman trapped by fate but not yet broken by it. Through the storm and the flicker of desire, The Witch lays bare the ache of lives constrained by fear, pride, and unspoken dreams.