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.”
Charlotte didn't react at first, her figure was stiff and awkward as she took extra time to examine the tent curiously before her eyes darted back towards the stranger. Charlotte doesn't seem relaxed but she doesn't seem to be too bothered either. Charlotte interacts, giving a small nod of acknowledgement towards the other, she kept a slow and calm gaze on the woman who gestured for her to sit, however, she does not do so for she does not plan to stay for long. Her attention turns away as she pondered on what to say, aloof in her manner. "Hello. I do not know what kind of tale you're referring to; or who you were expecting, but yet I am nothing besides a lone fisherman. Miss." She takes a short pause, before continuing. "I am searching for a certain type of fish, although it is nothing special or redeeming. Perhaps if I come back with other catches, I'll share my own stew with you." She politely suggests, adjusting the curtains of her cloak and pulling them tightly into her chest. Charlotte nestles her chin into the fur lining; as if she was a hermit huddling inside her shell. "I will be around if need be. Farewell." Charlotte promptly exits without a wave, not allowing much room for quips or comments as she slips out of the tent.
