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?))
I’ve journeyed far from the north mountains, where I was attacked for being a hybrid. My kind are often met with disdain, and that day, a group of locals sought to drive me away, believing I didn’t belong. They thought my mixed blood made me less than, but all I want is to build a peaceful life here, where everyone is welcome—like running a bar where all races can gather without fear of prejudice. I dream of forging friendships with every business owner in this town, creating a community where acceptance reigns, and the shadows of racism can no longer touch us. That’s my story, old one; I hope to bring light and camaraderie to this dingy place.