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.”
((How do you respond?))
My eyes stared between the lady and the direction she aimed her gesture at. I sat ontop of the embroidered cushion and tapped my finger on my leg, anxious. "You've been expecting me?" My movement soft but clumsy, I leaned forward. "Well," I pause, "I don't have much to say - in terms of my story," I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck harshly; attempting to define the mood, I mumble, "Well, I've come from... a nearby town. I am here for travel, but I'm not sure whether I'll stay or not. I appreciate the question though, and I wouldn't call this town dingy. It reminds me of home." I smiled at her, letting go of our stare and returning to a stand. " I better get going," I nod towards her and immediately ascend to a situated stance. I rubbed off the dirt from the back of my trousers, awaiting her goodbyes.
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