Miss Celia held a flickering candle, its flame casting a weak and eerie glow as she walked down the dungeon. The moist air clung uncomfortably to her skin.
A group of maids, each strictly under Madam Isabel's wing, trailed nervously behind her.
Miss Celia descended the stone stairway; the echoing of her steps was the only noise that broke the dispiriting silence.
The long hallway at the bottom stretched before her, like a dark tunnel that was filled with the muffled groans of cells that lined its walls.
Celia continued onwards; the clink of metal plates echoed behind her. From a corridor, a butler emerged, followed by a line of few knights.
As they met on the path briefly, they exchanged a silent curt nod of recognition before they continued on their separate ways.
Winding through several turns and corridors, she finally reached the holding area where the workers were imprisoned.
