The key clicks as it twists in the lock, stone on metal and then, as the door swings open, metal through air, softer than silence. No thief is the girl who slips inside of the room beyond, no common rogue or crook, yet she walks like one. She looks like one as well, her face wan and thin, her skinny– more skinny than slender– bones framing a figure that no one would ever look at twice, or possibly even once.
The dark is completely gone in this room, the dank atmosphere of the surrounding dungeon obliterated by blindingly hot white lights. In the center of the room it lies, waiting for her. In fact, it sits there, cold and shivering in the dazzlement, blinking, too, putting its hands to its face. The girl, who is most certainly not a thief, looks around for the source of the light, ignoring the form, ignoring the way its ears perk up when it sees her. She finds the source at the top of the domed ceiling, and it looks back down at her, its blinding iris flaring white and red, making spots dance before her eyes. She would curse, but to curse brings bad luck. Continue reading