The Beauty Beneath the Waters

Late‑summer sunlight in Russia streamed through the wooden windows of a small country house far from the city. Daniil and Irina had only recently finished their studies. The two had decided to get away for a quiet time together, before life changed forever.

“In a few weeks, I have to report for military service,” Daniil said in a low voice. He held Irina close, his hand resting gently on her back. “I don’t know when I’ll get to see you again.”

Irina rested her head against his chest; her clothes smelled of grass and sunshine. She spoke with a slight tremor in her voice. “I will wait for you.”

Daniil lifted her chin with his finger, gazing softly into Irina’s clear eyes before brushing his lips against hers. They stood holding each other by the window, looking out toward the distant river winding through the great forest beyond.

As the day turned to evening, the sky’s pale blue faded to soft violet. Irina decided to walk down to the little nearby market to buy food and small supplies. She kissed Daniil’s cheek before leaving the house.

Daniil was not ready to go inside yet. He walked down the path behind the house until he reached an old, weather‑beaten wooden bridge that crossed a narrow, slow‑flowing river. He sat carefully on the bridge’s edge, pulled out a cigarette and lit it, breathing in deeply as he watched the water drift onward.

Before he had sat there long, he felt as though someone was beside him. He turned quickly — a woman stood there.

Her skin was pale, almost bloodless; her long dark‑green hair looked nearly black in the evening light. She wore a thin, long white dress. Daniil gave a small start, wondering how long she had been standing there.

“Hello. My name is Liliya,” the woman said softly. “This is where I live nearby. The bridge is old — I didn’t think many people came here.”

Daniil blinked, then replied: “I’m Daniil. I’m just staying at the country house nearby, looking for some quiet before I go into the army.” He found himself gazing at her, and spoke without thinking: “You… you are very beautiful.”

When their eyes met, Daniil’s heart beat faster. He wanted to keep looking — yet he quickly turned his face toward the river, thinking of Irina. He already had someone he loved, and soon he would have to serve in the army; there was no way to start something new.

Liliya only smiled faintly and said: “I should be going now.”

Daniil answered: “All right.”

He pressed the tip of his cigarette against an old piece of wood to put it out. In the blink of an eye, when he looked back again, Liliya was gone — only the quiet sound of flowing water remained.

Morning sunlight streamed through the wooden window‑slits and brushed Daniil’s skin until he woke. He glanced beside him and saw Irina still asleep — yet the moment his eyes cleared, the memory of the woman named Liliya rose unbidden in his mind: an urge to return to that old bridge, for no clear reason.

He got up hastily, waking Irina, who looked at him in surprise. “Why are you up so early?”

“I just want to go smoke by the river behind the house,” Daniil replied quickly. “The morning air there is nice — better than smoking indoors, so you won’t get the smoke smell either.”

Irina smiled softly. She had never liked cigarette smoke anyway. “All right. I’ll go to the morning market by myself. If I came with you, you’d keep stopping for treats and never get anything done.”

Daniil laughed quietly, picked up his cigarette pack, and headed out the back door.

When he reached the old wooden bridge, he saw a white‑cloaked figure already sitting on its edge — it was Liliya, gazing down at the still water below.

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” Daniil said as he drew near. “This bridge is old — it could fall apart any time. You shouldn’t sit here too often.”

Liliya turned toward him, a faint smile on her face. “I come here all the time, and nothing bad has happened yet.”

Daniil sat down beside her, lit a cigarette, and smoke drifted upward into the air. He expected most women to step away from the smoke — but Liliya only tilted her head and looked at him, showing no sign of dislike.

“I’m surprised you don’t mind the smoke,” Daniil said, a little puzzled.

Liliya answered in a soft voice, like water flowing past his ears. He began to feel dazed, wanting to keep listening to her speak, staring at her pale face until he could hardly look away.

She never looked at him with worry, nor asked about his military service the way Irina did. She simply listened quietly as he talked, as if time here had no hurry at all. Daniil thought to himself that his life was about to be forced into change, full of rules and duties — yet when he was with Liliya, it felt as though he could escape all his worries. She looked at him as if he did not have to be a soldier, or a responsible man — only himself. Her voice drew his thoughts slowly toward her, and he barely noticed himself leaning closer little by little. Though Irina’s face still appeared in his mind, it grew fainter every time he met Liliya’s eyes.

Meanwhile, at the small village market, Irina was choosing sweets and fruit. An elderly shop‑keeper looked at her and asked where she had come from.

“I’m from the big city — staying here with my partner for a rest,” Irina answered, arranging red fruit into a cloth bag.

The old man tilted his head, glanced toward the distant river, and said thoughtfully: “Ah… near the river, is it? Long ago, people here used to honour the rusalka — the water spirit. Old tales say she likes to appear at dusk or moonrise, sitting on the old wooden bridge combing her long hair. Don’t listen too closely to her songs — they make your heart drift away, so you never want to go back to your loved one. But these are modern times now; people don’t believe much anymore. There’s an Orthodox church built nearby, and those old stories have faded with the years. Young folks think they’re just fairy‑tales for children.”

Irina only smiled and listened, thinking it was just an old tale the man told for fun, not paying it much mind. She felt a little curious that he looked toward the river with such a worried gaze — then she paid for her goods and set off back toward the country house.

And all this while, Daniil was still sitting talking with Liliya on the old wooden bridge....

The sun still stretched low, the bridge‑shadow spilling long across the pale‑grey water. Daniil sat closer to Liliya; the heavy worry about military service that had weighed on him before faded into only a distant hum.

Liliya tilted her head toward him, her eyes clear as water in the soft sunlight. “It seems you carry a heavy heart… it must be such a pity, having to go off to the army with no knowing what awaits you there.”

Daniil laughed tiredly, staring down at his own hands. “Sometimes it feels as though life is already decided — there is no choice.” He spoke of fears he had never told Irina: fear of never coming back, fear that everything they had built would fall apart. Liliya simply sat listening quietly. She did not tell him to be strong, or comfort him as others would — she only rested her pale hand lightly over the back of his.

A soft warmth ran through him. Daniil did not pull away. He leaned nearer until their faces were almost touching. A cool, fresh scent like forest water drifted to his nose. He lost track of time, forgot the promise he had made to Irina — he only looked at Liliya’s lips, then leaned in to kiss her.

Just then, footsteps sounded from behind the bridge — Irina had returned from the market, carrying her bags of groceries. She froze, eyes wide, at what she saw before her.

Daniil snapped out of it and drew back in shock. “Irina…!”

The three stood silent for a moment. Then Liliya looked away, saying nothing more. Irina turned and ran quickly back toward the country house.

Daniil hurried after her. When he stepped inside, Irina faced him, her cheeks flushed with anger and hurt. “Why, Daniil? We made a promise!” Her voice trembled. “Did you betray me… with some woman you barely know?”

Daniil tried to explain, yet the words caught in his throat. He knew he was wrong — there was no excuse. He stepped closer, trying to hold her. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to.” He reached for her shoulders, but Irina pushed him away, refusing to let him near.

Irina stepped back until her shoulders pressed against the wall, her voice shaking with anger and sorrow. “You promised there would only be me! Only us!… And then you do this with some woman who appeared out of nowhere!” Daniil lifted his hand, pleading. “I don’t even understand why I did it.” Still, he had no good explanation to give. Irina turned her face away, unable to look at him.

Evening crept in; pale‑grey moonlight filtered through the old wooden window‑slits, drifting softly into the country house. Daniil sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his shadow cast across the wooden floor. Outside grew colder; night‑wind slipped through the window, making the curtains tremble. He reached for Irina’s shoulder, trying to draw her near, wrapping an arm around her waist and resting his head against her shoulder, hoping her anger and hurt would fade little by little. Yet Irina kept turning away — she did not look at him. Though she did not push him roughly away, her body stayed tense, as if the pain of what had happened still lingered fresh within her.

“I’m truly sorry, Irina,” Daniil said, his voice softening. “I don’t know why I did it — it felt as though my heart was being pulled somewhere else.”

Irina only sighed deeply. “It wasn’t just a mistake, Daniil. It feels as though ever since we came here, something has been quietly pulling us apart — yet I don’t know what it is.”

Daniil’s chest tightened with strain. Worries about what lay ahead, tangled with his fight with Irina, weighed heavier and heavier on his mind. He could find no words to fix things. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this right now — arguing won’t make anything better,” he said, worn out. He picked up his cigarette pack and lighter from the bedside table, stepped out through the back door, and headed toward the old wooden bridge crossing the narrow river.

When he arrived, the sky was pitch‑black, only moonlight glinting on the still‑flowing water. The night wind was sharp, rustling the trees along the bank. Daniil lit a cigarette, breathing deep smoke into his lungs, trying to release his tension — yet thoughts kept swirling in his head: Irina’s words, Liliya’s eyes, the uncertainty of what lay ahead. He drew hard on the cigarette until only a short stub remained.

When he looked up from where he sat, Liliya was standing at the bridge’s edge — no one knew how long she had been there. She wore her thin white dress, even in the cold night breeze. Daniil could barely steady himself. “It’s very cold tonight. A young woman shouldn’t be out here alone — it’s dangerous.”

Liliya looked at him with a sorrowful expression, her voice soft as if rising from beneath the water. “I’m sorry for what happened between you and her. I never meant for things to turn out this way.”

Daniil looked at her, and the old spell began to creep over him again — that feeling that beside her, he did not have to fear duty or the wrong he had done to Irina. “It isn’t your fault — it’s mine,” he answered weakly.

Liliya stepped slowly toward him, drawing near. She slipped her arms loosely around his waist and called his name in a beguiling tone. Daniil’s senses began to drift away, as if pulled down by a current. He tossed the remaining cigarette stub into the river and leaned in to kiss her, helpless to stop himself.

“Daniil!”

Irina’s shout rang out from the dark end of the bridge — she had run after him just in time. Daniil snapped back to his senses at the sound. He tried to step away — but when he looked at Liliya, her face and form shifted all at once: skin pale almost to transparency, dark‑green hair flowing as if still submerged in water even on land, eyes empty, holding only hidden ferocity and hunger. She was no longer human.

Liliya tightened her hold around Daniil’s waist. He struggled, trying to pull free — yet her pull felt like ropes wrapped all around him; he could not resist. She dragged him swiftly down toward the river. The dark‑grey water swallowed both of them, vanishing into the dark without trace.

Irina stood frozen at the bridge’s edge, her heart pounding wildly. She remembered the old shop‑keeper’s words from the market days before — the tale of the rusalka of the river, the spirit that lured those who drew near these waters. She realized then that Daniil had been drawn under the water‑spirit’s spell from the very start — but now… it was too late. She stood watching the surface of the river turn calm again, as if nothing had happened, and her quiet weeping drifted away on the night wind.