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.” He sat down in front of the the old hag and spoke, "My Father once had a honey farm that he and the neighbour managed. The other children often made fun of the neighbour and her porch-side garden, claiming that she was a witch. One day, my father got sick and he asked me to look after his bees. I donned my father's old beekeeper suit which fit loosely on my small frame, and went to tend to the bees. As I opened the beehive, I accidentally tore my veil. With the bees now swarming my face, I panicked and began running. As I ran by my neighbour's house, I snatched the first thing I could from her porch and put it on to cover my face; a carved pumpkin. With the bees now gone, I could finally take off the pumpkin... But it wouldn't come off. I sought help from countless people across the land, but nothing they did ever worked, eventually leading me here... It's as if the pumpkin became my new face. Perhaps those kids were right, maybe she really was a witch."
