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?))
Sif's eyes narrow as they look around the room. Weird poeple like this old woman is why they prefer to stay in the woods.
"Folk give me weird enough looks in this shitty town. Don't need to be associatin' with freaks too."
The hag's eyes narrow and Sif feels a painful tugging in their head as the hags magic starts to unravel her memories. On reflex Sif reaches for the dagger strapped to their hip, but the hag's magic, more powerful and more ancient than anything they have ever known overwhelms them and pulls at their mind. Scenes from their entire life flashes before Sif's eyes.
Pitchforks and fire. Crying until her throat is raw and no one. No one.
Her, back before they learned it was not safe to be a her, hiding behind thick barrels at the edge of a human town. Waiting for the dark and the chance to sneak into one of the chicken coops.
Sif, because that's what the kind old man with the warm bread had called her, looking into a pond and wondering how old she is.
A few years later, when they would have been a woman but decided not to be, inspecting their calloused, grey hands after shopping wood.
Finally, the peace of the forest. The birds, and the wolves and the other creature who did not flee when they came near. It was a lonely existence but one free of threats, free of humans.
Gasping, their hands grasping their knees, Sif came back to themselves. Before they could do anything but look up at the hag once more, the strange woman snapped her fingers.
"Night, night deary."
Sif's world went dark.
