ZodgePodge

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?))

Nell feels a rush of panic as the hag smiles in recognition, but just as quickly steadies herself. There is no way this witch truly knows her. 

"Of course, madame, although I only have a few minutes," she replies, returning the smile with all the polite grace her mother had taught her as she takes a seat. "I presume you know my name already? Nell D'Anvers, of the Commonwealth?" Nell watches the hag's face closely for any sign of confusion, but it never came. She breathes a quiet sigh of relief. The lie had become easier to tell over time, of course, but it was still too soon, too raw.

"I am simply on my way to mourn a dear friend of mine, madame. A Norlander - he was to be my husband, but was taken ill with an unfortunate illness before we became of age. We have maintained correspondence ever since."

Memories of her family home in Vallagne wash over her as she speaks. The look of doubt on her father's face as he watched her struggle to converse with a suitor, the hushed sobs of her mother and younger sister as it was decided she would instead become the burden of some far-off aunt or uncle, the anxiety-fuelled blur that was the evening of her escape before her freedom was taken away forever. Her confident tone began to waver.

"I wish... I wish we could have had more time... I apologize, this loss has left me... quite emotional... poor, sweet Erik..."

As tears begin to fall, the mask beginning to slip out of reach, she uses the last of her strength to wipe her face with her black mourning cloak. If she was lucky - and oh, how she hoped she was lucky - the witch would mistake her homesickness for young, broken love.