Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They 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?))
The tent grows colder when the figure enters.
The candles sway though no wind touches them. Their light catches on a pair of eyes that glow faintly red in the dimness, like embers buried beneath ash.
The being does not immediately sit.
Instead it watches the old hag, unblinking.
“So,” it says at last, voice low and hollow, as if echoing from somewhere deeper than the tent itself, “the swamp whispers my arrival now.”
A faint, crooked smile touches its lips.
“I wondered who had the courage to wait.”
Slowly, it lowers itself onto the cushion. The fabric barely moves beneath it.
“My story…” The red glow in its eyes brightens slightly as it studies her face. “You speak as if it is a tale. As if it has an ending.”
A quiet, dry laugh slips from its throat.
“I walked into this town because something here remembers me. The rot. The water. The old things that refuse to die.”
It leans forward a little, candlelight flickering across its pale features.
“And you,” it continues softly, “looked at my face and said you’ve been expecting me.”
The red eyes narrow slightly.
“So tell me, old one…”
“What kind of ghost were you waiting for?”
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