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?))
"You think I'm going to sit on that!?" she exclaims and her face twists in disgust. A moment of silence passes, and she dusts herself off and tries to regain her composure before continuing to speak. "Look, I don't know who told you I was coming here but I advise you to stay out of my business."
As she began to turn around to walk toward the exit a thought stopped her in her tracks. "It was my father, wasn't it?" She turned back around, eyeing the old woman in suspicion. "While I'm here, do me a favour and tell him I'm not coming back."
With that, she ducks out of the tent and stalks away from view. 'The audacity of Father, to think I'd go back on my word,' she thinks to herself, her emotions boiling inside of her.
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