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?)) Lyra tilted her head, and looked at the hag with a perplexed eyebrow raised, she was incredulous that Lyra herself knew this person, and that she in turn knew Lyra. But as confused as she was, Lyra shrugged it off and sat down on the cushion. As her bottom met the cushion, a slight puff of dust shot in the air from it. Suddenly feeling quite dirty from the seat she was oh-so unceremoniously given, Lyra looked at the nameless hag with a face of disgust.
"Well," Lyra finally spoke. "I was on my way to Karosgrad to meet with relatives. But I suppose I can stop for a rest." Lyra let her last word fall flat, in hopes that this woman had some manners and would at least offer tea. Yet, here she sat, eyes unblinking and her hands folded in her lap as Lyra was put on the spot. Sighing, Lyra continued.
"I am from Providence, and I still live there to this day. My family's no bigger than your average shopkeep. Father was a logger and my mother did the domestic work at home, so I am in no way rich, if you were ever wondering." She paused, on purpose, to see if the hag was looking at her statement on her wealth. Nothing. Just the same odd look. Lyra continued.
"I had two brothers, but they're off doing who knows what now. I am not even sure they're alive at this point. We weren't close anyways. My mother taught me the basics, of course. Reading, writing, painting..." She paused, getting a sense from the woman across the room from her that maybe Lyra should speed things along.
"I am only recently on my own, mother passed a year ago and my father is with my brothers." Lyra gave a look of sourness, which finally got a reaction from the woman who moved to reach a kettle. Finally, tea. Maybe she does have manners.
"Suppose I was never close to him, either." Lyra said, thoughtful. A tea cup was place on the rickety table beside her. Giving a generous nod, Lyra took a sip. It had a peculiar taste, but she felt refreshed, invigorated. It was like waking up on the perfect, sunny morning. Perhaps things would be alright.
