garl_apollo

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?)) Slender fingers brushed over the tent's coarse fabric, head held in a slouch, the Villámsárkány seemed rather slow to seat herself. Every bitter moment of hanging silence spent with the idle pulling of garb, or even with flickering whisps for eyes scanning the niceties of the strange abode they found themselves in; the rattling of the old beetle in the corner, the struggle of the candles' many flames. Nonetheless, time prevailed, she came to drag her attention for the elderly hag, corners of her lips pulling downward, smile lines apprehensively wrinkling as such. "Your eyes - they are perfectly seated amongst your visage, you know." Her head tilted off for the side then, forcing her gaze away, "You are one of the first to ask of my story ... It is not often that I find myself in particularly good fortune as to be asked of my tales of struggle, it is with much difficulty that I find even one among the crowd of thousands to care to listen." Anett commented in passive, familiar exasperation, "I was born in silent passing, I was never a very loud child in my upbringing, or so my mother recalls. My father never seemed quite attentive enough to see the same, though, I suppose that comes with being the youngest in a flock of many bold characteristics, do you understand? Surely you must - oh but -- I suppose I'm chatting away again. Right, well, I regret to inform you that my life is tragically dull, though I speak truth in craving tales of adventure. My family has just recently moved here, perhaps it is divine timing, I believe I was meant to move, everyday seems the same in present. I grew up with siblings, found no interest in any meaningful hobbies other than literature, and thus, suddenly I am of age - and with this great change, I find myself moving. While nothing seems rather invigorating about this life, I hope to find more purpose ... I believe the soul grows weary without it; don't you concur?"