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?)
As the words leave the hags mouth a sense of dread falls over my body, as I recollect my life. I sit and let out a sigh “I grew up in the slums with my father, he was a cruel man never far from anger.” Old memories flood my mind as I shutter at the thought of what I came from. I meet her eyes and her gazes pierces through my soul “When I was 10 I ran away and grew up running from village to village” I whispered. A cold rage fills my mind “ I vowed to never let anyone beat me like he, now I wander this world hoping to find something to make me whole.”
