Audio Book Teaser - Vasilisa’s Triumph
- S.R. Laing
- Feb 20
- 3 min read
Dark Folio Press is pleased to share this teaser of our forthcoming audiobook.
Vasilisa’s Triumph is a deep dive into the ancient Slavic tale Vasilisa the Beautiful, first put to paper in 1863 by Alexander Afanasyev in his collection of Russian folktales.
It features death, a poppet, and an alleged cannibalistic wood-witch.
Join us as we reimagine Vasilisa the Beautiful as Vasilisa the Triumphant.
In addition to retelling this bewitching story, I explore the cultural landscape from which the tale first emerged, the conditions under which it endured, and the hidden layers of legacy tucked between pages of folk magic, Jungian symbolism, and the genetic inheritance of curses and their cures.
Excerpts of Vasilisa’s Triumph
Excerpt 1.
Long before this tale ever touched ink, it lived in the shadows cast by hearth-fires.
Already established as ancient, in those centuries when Europe’s nights were thick with fear. When church bells marked not only hour by the hour but also the boundaries of acceptable thought, stories such as this were contraband.
And yet they endured.
They hid themselves in the most ordinary acts: in bread rising, in cloth turning on the spindle, in lullabies and winter songs. They survived because women carried them quietly, passed hand to hand like a smouldering coal, kept alive in kitchens, in birthing rooms, and in the stillness of night where the world could not see.
The figure we call Baba Yaga persisted, and the tale of Vasilisa slipped through their fingers.
What you are about to read is not just a fairy tale.
It is a testament to the quiet, subversive power of stories told in the dark.
Excerpt 2.
“Don’t be afraid,” the doll replied. “I’m with you.”
And so, across the pitch-dark forest, with no moon, and no stars, Vasilisa walked.
Out of nowhere, she saw movement. A blur of white cutting through the trees. A rider passed, fast and silent. He wore all white, his horse pale as snow, its silver bridle glowing softly in the darkness like moonlight caught in motion.
Just then, the sky began to shift. A whisper of dawn moved across the forest. Vasilisa kept walking, toes bruised from stubbing roots and rocks, her hands stiff with cold, the braid down her back soaked with dew.
Then came another rider. This one cloaked in red, his horse the color of flame, his harness blazing like embers in the rising light. The sun rose fully now, warm and golden. It kissed her skin, dried the damp from her hair, and slowly brought feeling back to her fingers.
Still, she walked.
She kept moving all day, deeper into the forest, the path narrowing, the shadows stretching longer. As evening fell, she stepped into a quiet clearing and stopped.
Ahead of her stood a house. Not abandoned, not alive, just waiting. Its fence was built from human bones, topped with skulls that faced outward. The gate was a grotesque puzzle of leg bones and arms, held shut by what looked like a jaw’s worth of sharp teeth.
Vasilisa froze. Every part of her screamed to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. Then came the final rider. Draped in black, his horse just as dark, its harness almost disappearing into the dusk. He approached the bone gate without pause, and vanished into thin air.
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