The 'other' me (part one)
Surprisingly, by the time we reach Dawn's cell, and my feet are burning under the harsh chill of the floor, there are no guards left around, only oil lamps which- judging by the dullness of the flame- no longer rich with the brilliant freshness of a newly lit fire, has been burning for many hours now. My mind is reeling, half insane from the hours of darkness, my feet feel heavier than the blocks of stone the smiths use in my forges at home, and I ponder quietly to myself whether the dungeons are designed to drive you half mad to begin with. Wear you down so much that by the time you get down here, the possibility of never leaving seems just as nice as making it back out. I rub my eyes wearily.