You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You 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.”
"As a child, my parents always came and gone nearly as often as the stars. I never understood why. As I grew older, I discovered the truth. My parents were... it doesn't matter. But what they did to people..." I say. "What they did to me..." I quietly, but with intensity, murmur while gesturing to the scar on my left shoulder. "Determined to no longer be associated with them, I've found solace in education and reading, and have recently embarked on a journey of self-discovery, and I've found myself here."
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