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.”
“The nights feel heavy,” he said, his voice trembling “Like the dark itself is watching, waiting.” He glanced around the tent. He knew something had been pulling him here, to this town, though he couldn’t explain why. Each step he took had been driven by a force he didn’t understand, a magnetic pull that drew him deeper into the unknown. He felt it more strongly now than ever, tugging at his mind, urging him forward even as fear clutched his chest.
“I don’t know what’s pulling me,” he admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear. “Or why. But it’s getting closer, and I don’t know what to do.”
