“The Sunken Wreath”

Chapter 1

The night of Kupala hung suspended between heaven and earth, a golden thread of magic binding the village to ancient rhythms that even the church had failed to silence.

Vesna stood at the edge of the meadow, her bare feet pressed into soil still warm from the summer sun, watching as the girls gathered flowers for their wreaths. Her fingers itched to join them, to weave stems and petals into promises that would float along the river's back, carrying whispers of futures yet unwritten. But her eyes, bright with anticipation and mischief, kept straying instead toward the gathering of young men near the bonfire, searching for the tall, ash-smudged figure of Velimir Havran, the blacksmith's son whose smile had lodged itself like a splinter in her heart.

The bonfire crackled and spat embers toward the velvet sky, its orange fingers painting the faces of the villagers with golden light. Girls in white linen dresses moved like spirits through the tall grass, their hair adorned with blossoms, their laughter carrying on the summer breeze. Boys tested their courage by leaping over smaller fires, each jump accompanied by shouts and clapping. Elders sat on logs, passing earthenware jugs between them, their voices growing louder as they gossiped about the village youth.

Hearing them, Vesna tucked a strand of her short blonde hair behind her ear, suddenly self-conscious of her boyish frame in her best white dress. Unlike her sisters, whose curves had earned appreciative glances from the village men, Vesna's body remained stubbornly slender, better suited for climbing trees than attracting suitors. She plucked a daisy and twirled it between her fingers, wondering if Velimir ever noticed her as more than his childhood friend.

"Vesna! Stop daydreaming and come help us!" Her friend Milica waved from where the girls gathered, their laps already filled with flowers. "The best ones will be gone if you wait any longer!"

With one last glance toward the bonfire, Vesna darted across the meadow, her bare feet barely touching the ground. She fell to her knees beside the other girls, her nimble fingers immediately seeking out the most vibrant blooms.

"Looking for someone?" Milica teased, nudging Vesna's shoulder.

"Perhaps," Vesna replied with a grin that didn't reach her eyes. She gathered cornflowers, daisies, and sprigs of herbs into her skirt, the scent of summer rising around her. "But I doubt he's looking for me."

"The blacksmith's son again?" Milica lowered her voice, though the other girls were too busy with their own wreaths to listen. "Vesna, you've been mooning over him since we were thirteen. Either tell him how you feel or set your sights on someone who notices you."

Vesna's fingers stilled on a fragile stem. "He notices me," she said softly. "He saved me from falling in the river last autumn. And, he walks me home from the market sometimes."

"As a friend," Milica insisted. "Open your eyes, he treats you like a little sister at most!"

The words stung, but Vesna forced another smile. "Perhaps tonight will change that," she said, reaching for more flowers. "My wreath will be the most beautiful on the river. How could he resist?"

The girls worked with practiced hands, their fingers weaving and braiding stems into perfect circles. Vesna poured her heart into her creation, selecting each bloom with care. The cornflowers reminded her of Velimir's eyes, so deep and thoughtful. The white daisies spoke of innocence, and the herbs – thyme for courage, rosemary for remembrance, mint for virtue – whispered of her hopes for their future together.

"There," she said finally, holding up her completed wreath. It was indeed beautiful, the flowers arranged so their colors flowed like music. "Perfect."

The girls rose as one, their white dresses glowing in the firelight as they made their way toward the river. Vesna clutched her wreath carefully, her eyes once again searching for Velimir among the crowd. She spotted him standing with his father, both men's faces solemn even amidst the celebration. The elder Havran, broad-shouldered and stern, never seemed to smile, and his son had inherited that serious nature, though Vesna had been privileged to witness the rare moments when Velimir's face softened into boyish laughter.

The riverbank thronged with villagers as the wreath ceremony began. One by one, the young women approached the water's edge, placed candles in their wreaths, and set them adrift on the current. Tradition held that if a young man retrieved a girl's wreath from the water, they would be destined for marriage. Vesna waited, her heart drumming against her ribs as the wreaths floated like stars on the dark surface.

When her turn came, Vesna knelt at the river's edge, the cool water lapping at her knees, dampening her dress. She lit the small candle nestled among the flowers, whispering a prayer as old as the hills around them.

"Carry my heart to him," she murmured, then gently placed the wreath on the water's surface.

The circle of flowers bobbed once, twice, the flame of the candle flickering but holding steady. Vesna rose, her eyes following its journey. For a moment, the wreath sailed smoothly, joining the others in their dreamlike procession.

But then, without warning, the center seemed to grow heavy. The wreath dipped, water spilling over its edges, extinguishing the candle. Before anyone could speak, it vanished beneath the surface, pulled down as if by an unseen hand.

A hush fell over the nearby girls. Milica's hand found Vesna's, squeezing tightly.

"It's nothing," one of the older women behind them said quickly. "Sometimes the stems aren't bound tightly enough. It doesn't mean anything."

But the prickle of unease crawling up Vesna's spine told a different story. She stared at the spot where her wreath had disappeared, suddenly cold despite the summer heat.

"Come," Milica tugged her away from the water. "Let's get some mead and watch the boys jump the fire."

The celebration continued around them, but a shadow had fallen over Vesna's heart. She tried to shake it off, accepting a cup of sweet mead and letting herself be pulled into a circle dance. The music pulsed through the night, feet stamping in rhythm with drums. Her body moved with the others, but her mind remained by the river, watching her hopes sink into the darkness.