MMakoto_

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.”

Response:

Her hand was resting on her dagger, dangling from her waist. As if the interior wasn't already suspicious from the floating lights, she noticed the old hag, sitting there, almost as if she was dead... until her voice filled the tent. At the same time, the resting hand suddenly gripped the hilt of her dagger, ready to swing it's cold blade.

That was, until she listened to what she had to say. She realized - or more like she hasn't sensed any hostility from the old hag, so after short consideration, the woman sat down on said cushion. She took off her hat and placed it right next to her. Gripping the dagger she thought was not necessary anymore, so instead she put her hands on her lap, with her fingers intertwined.

"I'd prefer my identity to stay anonymous, but instead of my story, I can tell you that of a little girl, living in a little village."

A woman like her talks. Being out of touch with society for a long time now, she felt the need to converse with someone, with anyone. That someone now being the old hag in this tent.

"It all began 23 years ago, when a little girl was born in a remote village. Distant from the loud city, it was rather peaceful. She was always playing outside where the smell of freshly baked bread was in the air, where the chatting of the villagers was making their everyday problems less problematic and where the city folks would feel so out of touch that it  would feel like they entered another world."

Hearing herself being kind of poetic with her story, she feels somewhat annoyed, rooting from a mild feeling of embarrassment.

She coughed in her fist, fixing her tone, as she was continuing. "Anyways... the village was raided by a group of bandits. There were no soldiers or guards, but even if we count all the ready-to-fight people, that wouldn't have been enough to outnumber them. The village does not exist anymore, along with it's people. That's the reality, except that one had escaped and lives to tell the tale."

The woman sighed, as she finished her short story.

Art by theDURRRRIAN on DeviantArt