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.”
((How do you respond?))
"Oui, madame." Brother Lucien's voice is passably male, but it takes some straining to maintain it. She sits, not entirely sure why she is so willing to reveal herself to a complete stranger; nonetheless, she cranes her head around to the door. *We are alone.* Slim fingers emerge from her oversized sleeves, and she slowly lets down her hood, revealing a pale face and mousy hair. "You see... je suis une femme." A second ticks by, and she presses on. "My mother died when I was three, and my father, two years ago. He was a kind man; my elder brother, who took over my guardianship, was not." Another beat. "Émeline is my name, I might have mentioned that before. My family was rich." Émeline takes a sudden interest in the table's divots. "My brother wanted me to marry; I ran away. To a nunnery, madame." She locks eyes with the hag---she is not sure why.
"And you ask, why I wear these clothes? D'accord, madame. I will tell you." A pained smile creeps its away across her candlelit face. "The nuns were kind, and the monastery was warm, and there was food enough to eat." A beat. "When my brother came looking for me, he threatened violence. My brother's threats are... not to be taken lightly, oui? The monastery did not force me out, but I knew what would become of my friends, had I stayed. A kind brother, Lucien, lent me a habit; I took his name too." Émeline sighs. "I ran once again, and now I wander. That is all."
