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?))
The mute one would sit like asked, staring at the shrink, they would point to their mouth before opening it. What the shrink could see was this scraggly teen had no tongue, thus their story begun, from their side bag they would pull out a black board and a piece of chalk their writing rather neat. 'They hurt me. they cut my tongue'. The mute showed the shrink, awaiting their next words...
