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'm quite sorry to have arrived this late, ma'am." Marco sits in the cushion in a polite manner, and crosses his legs - "I've come from far to ask a favour: an analysis. I've met the Creator, and I am not sure if it was a delirium, a dream, or reality. I'm not sure what to do, and, quite frankly, i am lost." He sighs, looking down at his hands, grabbing forcefully his clothes - "Why me? What does all of this mean? Am i suffering from a lack of sanity? Has His appearance changed me? This paranoia that surrounds me is unnatural, nothing of this likeness has occured upon me all my life." Marco lets go of his clothes, and stands up, looking with confidence to the hag - "I need you to analyze my soul, and prove if i'm right or wrong."
