The dungeon smelled of damp stone and something rotten, a stench that made Celine close her eyes and force herself not to think too much about it. It had been, three days. Time was a strange thing down here, in the darkness where there was no sunlight, no gentle glow of the moon, only the occasional flicker of a torch outside her cell that cast shadows on the rough walls. Every minute felt like an eternity.
Celine had spent the first few hours pacing back and forth, then sitting down heavily on the cold, hard floor, only to resume her relentless pacing again. Her back still ached, raw from the flogging she had endured earlier, yet she refused to allow herself to dwell on the pain. That was exactly what they wanted, to break her spirit, to make her doubt herself, to strip away the dignity she so fiercely clung to. But she was determined not to let them win. The pain, though sharp, was nothing compared to the fire in her heart.
