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?))
Alexander held a hand to his mouth, “Well you see-“ his brows would furrow, “I think you’re misunderstanding ma’am, I wasn’t supposed to be here.” His glance would shift behind him and out through the tent. The tent was warmer than the surrounding town. Begrudgingly the boy would sit across from the dear and old lady. “My story?” He’d pause, pressing his lips together, “Mm you see.. My ‘story’ isn’t much of a story-“ he’d shift uncomfortably on the cushion, “My father sent me over my brother, I have forsaken my father one to many times.” His eyes would practically roll back into his head, “That’s what he proposes- He thinks being me is so easy- you should see this man. He’s a preacher and an abusive husband, but walks around with Grace.” “Oh how the lord bestows justice for me and my family,” he’d mimic in a low pitched voice, “for my son has be riddled with sin once again, forgive him great god.” He’d taken his opportunity to vent quite to far at this point.
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