Monarch

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?)) Nezera cautiously enters the tent. Hand on hip while the other began raising. "Well..." Nezera tucks a delicate strand behind her pointed ear. "I've entered a writers block!" She drops to her knees and raises her head as tears roll down her cheeks. The hag looks at her with look of confusion and whispers, "maybe I got the wrong-" "OH! I need to go on an adventure! FULL OF LOVE! DRAMA! TRAGEDY! TWISTS & TURNS!" She cries. "I need to write the story of the century." The hag sat there in silence. Dumbfounded. However, the old hag sat there in admiration ((This shall be interesting)). Nezera remained on her knees, striking dramatically. Attempting to slow down her breathing pace. Wiping the tears away and pouncing up. She makes her way towards the hag and ragdolls into the cushion. "So. You got anything to drink?" Nezera smirks.