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?)) I take a seat without a second thought and look to the hag with a cold smile, "Thank you, for accepting this opportunity to see me." I pause thinking for a moment. "My story, Well What I can tell you is that I can't remember lots about my past, but I knew by staying there I wouldn't know who I should be."
