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.”
--
Selene’s brow quirked in surprise. She returned the old woman’s unrelenting gaze, “Expecting me?” She echoed, bemused, her words accompanied by a hesitant chuckle. “What a peculiar thing to say to a stranger.”
Selene lowered herself onto the tattered cushion at the woman’s request, “well, if I must,” a smile crept up on her face as her sense of unease dissipated. Almost as if she was waiting for someone to listen to her--to hear her out.
“My story,” she started: “I don’t have much. I’m not even sure what to expect here, in this town—“ Selene took a deep breath, steadying her thoughts, “I’ve been searching for something… someone. To be someone.”
“There’s not much you could expect from a daughter of a poor man,” Her face twisted into a mocking smile, “I can’t just sit around and do nothing all day. I’ve got to do something and *be* something.”
