silariathas

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.”

   "Me? My fair lady," Gwilym drawls, biting back a grimace and swallowing down all urges to gag, "I should appreciate your hospitality." At this, he makes a wide sweep of the tent in all of it's unbridled glory. Must and rot churns his stomach and heavy air pricks the back of his eyes with tears; he cleared his throat and played it off as a dramatic pause. "However I have not the slightest clue as to who you are! Ah, well, not that it matters. I have been blessed with the acquaintance of so many maidens, beautiful and hideous alike, it is ridiculous to believe I'd recall them all!" Theatrics in tow, Gwilym finds himself seated on the cushion with his cloak flung out behind him. 

   He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "My story... Let us see. Hm. It all began when I was five..." At this point, Gwilym goes on an exasperatingly long, detailed, and hard-to-follow tale of his journeys that he most certainly has made up. "Here we are, now, at the conclusion of my tale. . .and here I am, in a terribly terrible musty town with a forgettable cow before me." 

   Contempt breaches the hag's features. She snarls at the boy, baring yellowed, crooked teeth. "You rat. I know who you are. You are no grand hero, do not attempt to fool me!" 

   Gwilym shot up from his spot on the bench and started to the tent's exit--but not before the hag intercepted. "You speak of enthralling adventures and yet you have only wandered aimlessly for months, you dense orphan boy! I have glimpsed you, your future and your past."

   Gwilym's face lost its color; a rare display of fear from a boy who wears many masks. His eye twitched and he coughed. "Yes, you are correct," he admits. "I have only one maiden." And then Gwilym is out the door, jogging through the town without looking back once.