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 freeze momentarily, grasping the situation. I hesitate for a second, but I quickly sit down on the dirty cushion. I say, "Oh.. well.. before I explain anything to you.. how do you know who I am? I don't think we've met before.." The woman, still looking at me, urges me to continue. I uncomfortably decide to go on with an explanation, "Uhm.. well perhaps I could tell you a bit about myself.." Sliding my hand across my hair nervously. I begin to speak again, "I come from an old farming village up north, so it was slow growing up. The village was known for the assortment of breads we made and fish we cultivated.. but something awful happened." The woman leans in, attentively. "Near dusk, a horde of people.. I believe they were people, it was difficult to make them out.. ravaged our village and destroyed our crops." My eyes grew bigger, as the story grew dimmer. "I was one of few who managed to escape.. so I've been wandering, trying to put the pieces together of who destroyed my small town.. I don't even have the knowledge of whether my parents made it out or not." The hag looks at me with empathetic eyes. I look back at her and add, "Well, there's my story.. please, tell me yours.. how do you know me?"
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