"The last thing I see before they shove us into the darkness of the dungeon is Abigail's silhouette, bathed in the pale light of the moon."
It was ironic that it would be a heavy iron door slamming shut behind us, right in the heart of the cold, damp walls of a dungeon that seemed to swallow every echo of such shutting.
Darkness seemed to choke, weighing in from every side, the weight of our failure pressing down on us literally.
The air was thick with mold and damp earth, while faint tricklings of water somewhere only made it hang in the air even more heavily.
I tug at the chains spellbound onto my wrists; with a tingling of magic, the metal seems to have sucked the strength out of me. I try and try, but I cannot raise even a spark, much less the smallest manifestation of power.
It
