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?)) Her eyes, bore into mine as if she can already read the tale I carry. With a deep breath, I settle onto the cushion she offers, feeling the weight of my journey pressing down on me.
"I've come looking for answers" i begin, as she sits there still looking at me as if she's seen a ghost.
"There’s something I need to find, something that’s been lost to time. I don’t know what it is, but I feel its pull, leading me through unfamiliar streets and into places I’ve never been. And now, it’s led me to you, why did it lead me here?"
