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.” My heartbeat picks up. My breathing starts to destabilize. Is this the woman that I was foretold to meet? Could this be the person the prophecy said that I would meet? All my life, I had been nothing but a simple slave to my kind. I needed change. I started to stutter. "Uh..um... Yes. My story. I come from, uh....." The crone's dark, beady eyes were starting to entrance me. They seemed to stare into the bottom of my soul. Without another thought, I passed out.
