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?)) Example: (delete this)
Feyre smiled kindly at the old woman, her eyes sparkling with a mix of warmth and nostalgia. "My story? Oh, where to begin?" She took a deep breath, her gaze drifting for a moment as if she were searching the depths of her memories. "It isn’t easy to recount, but I suppose it’s a tale woven from both sorrow and strength."
With a gentle nod from the old lady encouraging her to continue, Feyre settled into her words, her voice soft but steady. "I lost my parents when I was just a child, far too young to comprehend the weight of such a loss. Life can be bewildering and harsh at that tender age. I remember the world felt impossibly large and I, so small. Without them, I wandered through a fog of grief—there was a time when I hardly knew where to turn.”
She paused, her mind drifting back to those early days. “I was forced to grow up far too quickly. The streets became my home, and each day was a battle to survive. I learned to navigate the world with caution, developing a resilience I didn’t realize I had within me.”
