Gil was chasing a shadow in a place where everything was darkness and fleeting shades of grey and black. Her heart was pounding and beads of sweat stood on her brow. But whether this was from fear or excitement, she was not certain.
A head of bright hair shone ahead like a beacon in the black dungeon, and then it was gone again around a sharp corner.
There were voices all around her. They cried out from behind thick iron and oak doors, some sounding pained, others angry and yet more screaming incoherently at nothing.
As the insistent, maddening wall of noise rose around her, Gil heard a faint sound trilling behind it. The voice was soft and melodious; it seemed to be singing. Nothing could have seemed more alien in that dismal subterranean dungeon than a song.
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