A ceiling of rough volcanic rock was the first thing to greet Rumina's sight as she slowly opened her eyes.
Her head pounded fiercely, as if it had just been smashed by an invisible sledgehammer. Her neck muscles were stiff.
She blinked. The dim light from the purplish-red runic veins on the cell walls pulsed faintly. The temperature inside was warm, but the air felt stuffy and reeked of dead moss.
Rumina forced herself to sit up. Her trembling back leaned against the stone wall.
Her dark gray dress was now nothing more than a dull rag stained with dust and dried blood. The grip marks on her shoulder throbbed with a dull ache.
In the corner of the uneven floor, the clay bowl was still there. The boiled moss soup inside had gone cold, covered by a layer of congealed fat. A piece of rock-hard bread lay beside it.
Rumina's stomach churned painfully, demanding to be filled. But she didn't touch the food at all.
