HayCrow

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?)) "Me, yes!" The woman smiled, though her smile was quite the front- anxiety bubbled in her chest as she sat on the cushion, knees tucked to the side. She folded her hands on her lap, thumb rubbing the back of her wrist- a nervous tic of her's. "My story..." Her voice became gentle, apprehensive. She looked to the hag, seeing she was waiting. She shook her head, before sighing, and putting on a fresh smile. "My story is not a grand one, nor is it boring, mind you. I think it suits me well. My family has farmed for generations, and as much as I adore the sun and smell of fresh grass, I... I wish for more. The world looks alluring, when you see it from afar. I decided, despite my father's protests, I would seek out... a sort of meaning, for myself. It may be nonsense, honestly... but my mother, she always told me that every person was here for a reason. I wish to find that reason. And, well, what better than to start my own farm, somewhere else? Explore the arts, perhaps! I wish to find my passion, my meaning to be. It's a wonderful dream, that I wish to make reality." She finished, a hand placed on her chest with her declaration. She had dreams to fulfill, and nothing would stop her- she hoped so, at least.