"Now then," Owain said, his smile returning as he pulled open the heavy door. The smell of damp stone and old blood and human misery wafted up from below, and Jocelynn's stomach lurched as the scents carried a wave of unpleasant memories with them. "Let me show you what I've done for you."
The torchlight from below cast dancing shadows on the stone walls as they descended, and with each step down, Jocelynn felt the weight of the manor above pressing down on her, tons of stone and timber between her and the sky, between her and freedom. Her breathing had become audible now, quick and shallow, the sound muffled by her veil but impossible to hide entirely.
Unfortunately, Owain seemed to interpret it as anticipation rather than recognizing it as terror.
