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?))
Looks at the person next to her and sits "So you want to hear my story? First of all, my name is Viessa. Where I come from and where I go is determined by the person next to me, not me. There's only one thing I know and that's that I have to keep living. The things that happened to me made me dependent on someone. It is dangerous and forbidden to talk about what I experienced. It's dangerous for me to even talk to you right now. I'm not allowed to talk unless he gives permission, but he doesn't say anything for now. It's a little sad to ask someone else's permission to tell my own story, but it's necessary for me. Thanks to strict rules, I can continue on my way without anything happening to me. " looks carefully at the person next to him and gets up from his seat. "I think this much conversation is enough. Anything more would be harmful to me. He knows my story better than I do. Better listen to my story from him." moves towards the back and starts listening to what the two have to say.....
