Zoora

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.” Finally after a bit of searching, Siofra finds her way into what seems like a rotting town. As the smell of rotted wood and wet moss filled her nose, her nose would scrunch up. Her mind filled with the thoughts of the poor trees around, rotting away with no care. Her eyes flicked over to the one tend which illuminated with light, and certainly had a better smell then what was outside. The women hesitated, not quite sure if it was safe to enter a random tent. . . Yet she pushed forward. Her eyes immediately catching a glance at the hanging candles. As if that's not a fire hazard. It wasn't until the elderly spoke that she had realized there was another - causing her to jump a little. Siofra waited to move, or say anything. Instead, she nodded her head as the women spoke - taking a seat on the cushion that was offered and adjusts herself until she is comfortable. The women took a second to think, before opening up to this stranger about her life story leading up to this point. ". . . And once I hit the age of 25, I acquired a taste for more than the simplicity of my homelands. I wanted to expand my knowledge further more. It was not until I hit 30 when I finally left my family and friends. I was excited, but nervous for where I may find myself. " The women paused - looking over her right shoulder as her right hand caresses her left shoulder. "Next thing I remember is waking up on the shore. Perhaps there was a storm and I went overboard. . . Nonetheless, I walked until I found myself here."