Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They 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.”
"Me?"
Gwendolyn halted in her tracks, her feet stuck in indecision between heeding this hag's words or going right back out from whence she came. Her logical mind was telling her that this was just an accident waiting to happen; that if she didn't turn back now, she would be leaving with a curse hanging over her head -- or perhaps she wouldn't get to leave at all. It was her fathers voice that scolded her in her head, urging her to listen, convincing her that the suspicions she had were true. Yet, at the same time, her heart beat with curiousity. An emotion so devastating that it had gotten Gwen into all sorts of trouble when she was younger, and every time she failed to learn her lesson. Even now she failed, her fathers warnings quickly being pushed to the back of her mind as she entered the tent.
She sat carefully on the cushion, the fabrics and leathers she wore shuffling with each of her movements. The hag stared mercilessly at her, suddenly making her tense. It seemed there was nothing else to say; no small talk, no 'Hello, my name is.'
"Well.." Gwen started hesitantly. She was never good at talking about herself, let alone about her 'story.' "There wasn't really much that happened between my childhood and now. My mother passed away when I was young, you see. Some massive fire at a local inn that she couldn't get out of -- apparently all that was left when the fire went out were ashes, can you believe that?"
She shifted uncomfortably, hugging her knees to her chest, "But anyway, it took a huge toll on my father. Some say he went kind of crazy," She chuckled, "I think that's the best way to put it. He became very paranoid, especially with my brother and I -- too paranoid. He was just.. Mortified that something would happen to us, so he wouldn't let us out of the house. There was even a point where he wouldn't even let us out of our rooms. I remember one time my brother tried to sneak out -- his friends were having a birthday party, and he really wanted to go, poor kid. Oh, but you should've seen the look on my dad's face when he found out he was gone. I never saw the man get so angry."
"It sounds like a lot, but in reality it just makes for a boring story. I never had any friends since I was never allowed out, and by the time my father was okay with me taking a step outside on my own, all the people my age had already up and gone from the town. My father didn't exactly make up for it, either. He was mentally absent after my mother died, I don't think I ever got him back. So I got nothing out of it all. Absolutely nothing." There was a brief pause, as if the breath had gotten caught in her throat before she harshly swallowed it down, "And I would've never gotten out of there if it wasn't for my brother leaving first. My father actually thinks I'm staying with him -- that's the only reason he let me out. I guess I could have really stayed with him if I wanted, but I can't. I'd rather be caught dead than live under another person's roof."
As the last word came tumbling from Gwen's mouth, a heavy silence settled in the air. She had been smiling throughout her story, even letting out a bit of light laughter every few lines; but now that she had let the words settle in, there was a certain somberness in her eyes. Her gaze lowered, her thoughts wandering away from her mind as she spaced out and lost herself in the fog that had taken over her mind.
She couldn't help but wonder: was that really how her life turned out to be? Was her entire life up until now just locked doors and closed windows? It was all she could remember, and as she tried to search the gaps in her story for a different, more meaningful memory, she couldn't. Her father shielded her from everything. Not just the outside world, but from her youth; such a massive part of herself that she could only associate with the sounds of her own pleading to her father to spend even a second outside. From memories of her mother, who she couldn't even grieve for if she tried. Her father was not protecting her, but stealing from her -- but who did that turn her into?
Gwen snapped out of her vacancy as she looked back at the woman sitting across from her. She suddenly became aware of the sadness that had settled deep in her chest, yet was being shoved and pushed down but a raging sense of anger. Anger towards her father, and partially to this old hag who she wanted to blame for making her share her history, a part of herself she realized she had hated so much.
"I hope you got what you wanted." She bitterly muttered as she stood from the cushion, hurriedly brushing herself off before turning toward the exit of the tent without a second look. She didn't want to hear what the hag had to say, not what she thought, not what she thought Gwen should do from this point forward. She didn't want to know. She only wished to be alone, a wish that she had gone far too long without having fulfilled.
