I found myself in an unfamiliar place, a long, dark hall. The walls and floors were stone and cold to the touch.
Along one side was a long row of doors, with little rectangular windows at eye level, looking into the rooms behind them.
I rested the tips of my fingers on the window ledge of the first door and peered inside. There, I saw her sitting on the floor.
She was tall and slender. With dark brown hair and a demure, poised face, she wore a long purple gown. The purple dress flowed and seemed to twirl and have a life of its own when she moved and walked.
Her room was dark grey. She sat there against the painted stone walls, a little cold, but trying not to show it. One knee was pulled up and her arm rested on the knee, as though that was simply where it belonged. The other knee was only raised slightly, the other hand, bracing herself against the ground below her waist. Her name was Isabel.
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