AngelOrigin

Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? She begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”

“First answer me with how you know who I am.” Anathema steps forward, fists clenched and staring the hag straight in the eye. “I will not give you information if you cannot share with me yours.” Her sharp gaze does not leave the crone. 

The old woman continues to stare with expectant eyes … could it really be she knows me?, Anathema wonders.

The hag holds the dark elf's gaze, like a game. “Well," says the elf, "do I know you from somewhere or has someone spoken of me? Answer honestly. I have no business with people who take up my time. You tell me your name and how you know me, and I’ll tell you my story.”

Anathema stands, waiting stubbornly for an answer, her thoughts going wild: How trivial of this old hag … why won’t she answer me? How long must we play at this school-yard staring contest? This is …

"Awkward ..." The dark elf clasps her hand over her mouth as she accidentally verbalizes the word. "Fine, then. I could wait a lifetime."

“Once upon a time,” the old woman begins, as though telling a fairy tale. “I knew your mother.” 

“You knew my mother?" Anathema stares intently at the woman. "Go on ... I don’t have all day.”

“She told me you would come this way some day. Wise lady, that one. You weren’t even born yet.” 

“Well…w-what’s your name?” Anathema crosses her arm stubbornly, yet again.

“My name is far less important than yours … Anathema.”

Thoughts and feelings rush into Anathema's mind, flooding her senses and incapacitating her wit: What is this? My name … is known? How, when I have lived a sheltered childhood and secluded young adult life? My name … my only leverage in this conversation … is known.

Anathema sits, stunned and unable to find words. Mouth agape, she finally finds some words. “H-how did you?...” Her fingers are numb. Her lips tremble. She feels like shedding tears if she could only produce them.

“Your mother, dear.” The witch's voice softens, suddenly. “You could have been her twin.”

“Twin?” Anathema looks at her curiously.

“I told her that if you ever came, I would welcome you." The hag continues, "Though with a name like yours I doubted anyone else would!” She steadies her gaze in the deepest part of the dark elf's violet eyes. “Remember, Anathema, that while many will naturally avoid you in this world, I will be here to welcome you.” Her voice is soft as a cloud now.

Anathema closes her eyes to focus on the musical quality of the woman's voice, which says “I wish you well, Anathema. Be wary of others on your journey, and try to find me if you need anything else.” 

Eyes closed, Anathema thinks Wait ... is this it? I still don't know ...

The dark elf opens her eyes and looks out into the vacant forest around her. The tent and town have vanished. More importantly, the old woman is gone.

As she sits on a bed of leaves, Anathema's thoughts pervade: I wish I knew my mother ... I wish I hadn't killed her the day I was born.