A teenage boy cautiously moves about, a brown cat trotting close behind. He has the hood of his cloak up, eyes darting about nervously. He only comes to a stop at the three doors, and the boy takes the time to decide which one to go through before his eyes drift down to the trapdoor. He kneels down, pressing his ear against it. The crying is enough to get his heart to sink, and without thinking, he reaches out to knock on the trapdoor. "Um- h-hello?" - @the-timid-necromancer
Once the knocking came, the crying ceased. A slow, heavy slinking could be heard coming up from the cellar, drawing closer until an old woman lifted up the trapdoor with bony hands. She blinked slowly as she studied the two, then reached a hand into her torn magenta cloak to fish out a small can. She pulled it open as quietly as she could, then slid the can over to the small cat in front of her. After her offer to it, she looked up to the young man. "Which one are you looking for, then?" She sighed.
