From the darkness, came the form of a young woman. The low light of the green torches bathing her in an eerie silhouette.
She looked no older than seventeen. Her black hair hung wildly down her shoulders to the point it almost completely obscured her face. Regardless of her youth, her skin appeared cracked with dark smears of mud caked on her arms and legs.
She had obviously been down a very, very long time.
The ends of her fingers were so gnarled and dirty they looked black, as if they'd been burnt.
Or perhaps she had been burnt. Maybe that was a kind of torture they did down here.
But more unsettling than all of this was the way the girl moved. She did not walk but hobbled as if she were more comfortable on all fours than she was standing.
Instinctively, Enya brought her hand
