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?)) With the nod of my head, I quietly reply with a tone of unease, "I'm not sure why I'm here, everything is new and unfamiliar." My body tenses, giving the exit a nervous glance before turning back to the crone, eyeing her up and down. For a moment, it felt as if a chill ran up my spine, the simple shiver making me skeptical...
