ibleesian

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?)) Laelia cranes her neck- looking about the bleak town with wide steel eyes. Naive or, simply lost perhaps, as she ducks into the nearby tent. Her spine goes rigid and there's a gasp from her at the sight of the hag. A hand clutches over her mouth, struggling to find the words for her surprise- "I'm- I'm sorry- I think I'll just-" Her shoulders jerk as her attempts to leave are thwarted with a request, "I've walked a long way- I'm just looking... for-" There's a considerable pause, a hand running through her long blonde hair, a shy curtain falling over her face as her gaze darts around- "My sister, we got separated... She's- She's very important to me. Have you seen her?" And then there's a lilt in her voice, hope. She'll take any chance of encouragement, or at least- anything that isn't strictly a no, to continue. "She's a little bit older than me and she has brown hair..." Her hands clutch at her chest as she describes someone just as meager and similar to herself, all the while a seed of desperation lodges in her throat, causing tears to prickle at the corners of her eyes. Then, her whole being slumps, shoulders drooping as though wilting, "Please- tell me if you've seen her. I can't do this on my own." Her voice cracks. She was the first flower of spring stamped out by a harsh winter.