The dungeon was darker somehow. Bleaker. Colder. He approached Nora's cell. Dante's soul died a little when he saw she was still as he had left her. A crumpled heap of hair and desolation, huddled in the fetal position.
"You wanted to talk to me about my father," he said to her. "So, talk."
"Go away," Nora mumbled. The command was weak. Dante wrapped his hand around one of the bars. If he was angry enough, he'd be able to bend them. It was a thought he stored away for later.
"Nora, please," he whispered. He went to his knees, hoping his proximity would do something to stir her. "At least look at me."
It took her some effort, but Nora turned herself over and faced him. Her skin was tear-stained and grayish. Her eyes were dim. No life danced behind them at all. That spark and wit that l
