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 uh- “ , she'd clear her throat, glancing around at contents of the tent, “ You see, I’m not really sure what my story is, it’s gone a little haywire recently. “ Aurora smiled, a gentle smile as she put her hand into her pocket and dragged out a stained, crinkled piece of paper. “ My story begins with me being followed . . and I'm not sure by who. `` She began to unfold the paper with a look of uncertainty on her face, her leg bouncing up and down beneath the table. Aurora would glance back up to the lady, her green eyes the same shade as her necklace, “ Can you tell me what it is? “
