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.”
my parents where killed right in front of me and i am a realy dont like talking to pepol. i was shund by my brother for being gay and i get scared esly i guess u could say i dont like pepol but i do as well just have trouble trusting pepol and i have the mental state of a child cus i was never tout how to be a aduolt so i just want pepol to be friends with
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