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?))
Her eyes flutter open for a short moment, fixing her gaze upon the woman in-front of her. A gentle smile tugs upon her lips as she tilts her head to the side—offering a friendly smile. “My story..?” Yvonne pauses, tapping her chin in short, quick movements. She sits herself comfortably on the cushion, crossing her legs and resting her hands on her left thigh, “I suppose I have the time…”
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