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?))
"I - you recognize me?" I question as I place myself onto the cushion. Glancing around, I even ask myself why how I ended up in this place. "Honestly I am not sure what brought me here, I just know I needed to leave where I am from. It wasn't safe for me there, it never was." I look down, unsure how to continue. I wasn't ready to share my story, not yet. Not before understood it all. "How did you know I would be here?"
