In a distant fairyland, among the boundless black marshes, there are three hills, covered from top to bottom with white birches. On these three hills lies the White City, and cheerful and kind people live in it. They work, extracting honey, weaving canvases and brewing iron. And the wise princess Olga rules the city.
The inhabitants of the White City love their ruler for her statesmanship, kindness, cheerful disposition, and they also love Olga’s daughter Polina, and they call her our princess. It used to be that Polina was sitting at the window of the palace, sorting through berries for jam, reading or embroidering a napkin, and good people were walking past the windows, saying hello. Hello Polenka. Hello, our worker and beauty. Hello, our worker and beauty. And Polina answers them: «Good morning to you, happy day.» People go on about their business and talk about the princess among themselves. And her voice is silver. And a heart of gold.
In the White City it is white from birch trees, light from cheerful eyes and kind smiles. And around the city there is a strong stone wall, the gates of which open only during the day. Why? Yes, because the White City has enemies.
In the black swamps that lie around the white hills live evil swamp dwarfs — gnomes. They hate the White City with a fierce hatred. And most of all the swamp lord Okhlomyst. And now he is sitting at the very top in his Black Iron Tower, looking through a telescope and gritting his teeth in anger — they are having fun. They smile. Well, the city. Whatever rain is a rainbow, whatever day is joy. Someone built a new house — they have a holiday, someone sewed a new dress again fun. Look disgusting.
Next to the swamp lord, his two sons, twins Bikenya and Kikenya, are toiling from idleness, pestering with questions. — What is a holiday, daddy? -Yes, what is it? Okhlomyst put down his spyglass, clicked his forehead, concentrating. A holiday is when everyone has fun. Dress up and walk around the city square. Ugh, what a mess. Kikenya took a telescope and watched the happy people. Or maybe it’s good? Bikenya, who had not succeeded in looking through his father’s spyglass, became angry.
It’s bad for others to rejoice, Kikenya. Only we are supposed to walk and sing — me, you, and our dad, the great swamp prince Okhlomyst. You are smart, Bikenya, — Okhlomyst praised him. Then the son decided that since dad was in a good mood, it was time to beg for something. And let me, papa, look through a telescope to see what people are doing there, in the White City. Kikena wanted his brother to continue to envy him and hid the telescope behind his back. Why are you looking at this mess? Better go to the stable, punish someone, have fun. Punish yourself, but I’m tired! I’d rather look at the White City. No, me! Okhlomyst grimaced at the scream. Quiet, qu
