Dark. Cold. Hot.
These were the first three words that popped into Shayma's head as they proceeded. She might have well entered Tartarus. After their initial, somewhat welcoming welcome, the lights had gone off and now they followed the clown, or rather, the zombie, deep into the bleak pit.
Zue's ponytail was sticking to the back of her neck. Her chest was heaving and her eyes were bloodshot. She looked like she would collapse any second now. Shayma knew she herself must be looking like a zombie.
'How long?' Zue panted. 'I can not walk anymore.'
Shayma couldn't have agreed more. She was near to dying, her throat parched even though the flagon of water that she had held close to her heart was almost empty. And she wasn't even sure who this guide was. A ghost? A spirit?
'Who are you?' She rasped.
'Now you wonder,' the zombie giggled, 'After you have traveled with me for so long...'
