4. Vasalisa the Wise

Walking the dark with discernment and carrying your own light back

Her mother died when she was still a girl.
Before she left, she gave Vasalisa a small wooden doll,
and told her to keep it close —
to feed it when she was hungry,
to listen when it whispered.

It was the last thing she gave her.
And the only thing that would get her through what came next.

Her stepmother sent her into the forest
to fetch fire from Baba Yaga.
No one came back from Baba Yaga’s hut.
Her fence was made of bones.
Her light shone from skulls.
She was said to eat girls alive.

Still, Vasalisa went.
The doll in her pocket.
The whisper in her ear.

Baba Yaga set her impossible tasks:
sort the seeds, separate the poppy from the dirt,
fetch the water before morning.
The doll told her how.
Patience. Endurance. Discernment.
No wasted motion. No needless speech.

When the tasks were done,
Baba Yaga gave her what she had come for:
a skull-lantern full of fire.
She carried it home.
And with it, she burned her stepmother’s house to the ground.

This is not just a story about courage.
It’s about learning to walk in the dark
without losing yourself.
It’s about knowing which voice to follow
when the world gives you a thousand false ones.

The doll is your instinct.
The fire is your light.
The work is the long road between them —
the part where no one applauds,
no one sees,
and still, you keep going.

You don’t need the whole map.
You just need to know how to listen,
and when to burn it all down.