Jysanna

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.”

((How do you respond?))

"My story?" Julie starts, sitting down onto the cushion with careful precision. Her back stays straight, knees neatly together, hands folded on her knees. A practiced posture. Composed. Controlled.

 Now sitting down, her eyes meet the old woman's with a practiced calm that she has worn like armor for most of her life.

"I am Balianese, but that you could have guessed." There’s a pause as Julie inhales softly through her nose. "I grew up in a richer family in Balian, there were my father and brothers who-" The words falter on her tongue. Something in Julie's chest tightened. She glanced away for a beat too long.

"It does not matter," Julie quickly throws out, more curtly than intended. The calm starts to slip from her tone. She shifts her posture like it's suddenly uncomfortable.

"Why am I even telling you this?" Julie's voice hardens as irritation creeps in. "Why am I here spilling my life's tale to some old hag in a disgusting and rotten tent in the middle of some run-down town?" She had decided to abandon the calm and gentle facade she had worn for most of her life. They were not here, and she no longer needed to beg for their love or attention. A bastard freak, always a stain on the family. If she fought back when others mistreated her, it was always her fault, and if she kept quiet, they asked why she didn't speak up. Now, however, she would never have to see them again. And if she's always going to be a freak, then why even bother with the politeness?  

Julie rises sharply, no longer caring for the perfect angle of her limbs. The cushion rustles behind her.

"The war opened a door," Julie says, standing tall and towering over the old woman. The plan of getting away from that family had been in the works for a long time, and the war had been the perfect opportunity that she had been looking for.

"And I paid you," Julie says, looking down at the old woman with a commanding gaze, "To get me further away using the refugees. Not to pry into things that are of no concern to you!"

Julie narrows her eyes. "I'm even paying you incredibly well in such a dire time. I want distance from my family—complete distance. No trails. No whispers. And once that’s done, I’ll need a place somewhere I won't be noticed with a job that keeps my head down. That’s it."

Julie turns toward the tent’s exit, not waiting for the old woman's response.

"So please," Julie snaps over her shoulder, "Spare me the therapy and get the escort ready. I paid you to get me away, not to care about the reasons why. So, please just view me as a woman who is escaping the war just like everyone else."