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?))
Milena looks at the cushion, before just raising her eyebrow and giving a slight scoff. She feels like simply talking to this woman would be a waste of time, and even if it wasn't, she's in no position to be talking to anyone right now.
“I'm afraid I must decline, ma'am. I'm short on time, and even shorter on luxury. Destiny waits for no woman.” She said, feeling rather confident in her answer, however, noticing a slight bit of hesitance on the woman's face in reference to her answer, she sighs, and continues anyway.
“I appreciate the invitation, I really do, but where I grew up, time wasn't exactly a luxury. In harsh environments, every second counts, and that statement still counts for me, even out here.” She added, before, without as much as glancing at the woman, turning around, picking up her bag, and walking away.
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