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solely on her other senses instead. She knew she was naked because the cold dimpled her flesh and her scalp tingled as shivers raced through her body; stretching her arms into the darkness, her hands encountered the gritty texture of stone. She trailed her hands over the rough contours, her fingertips numbing as they passed through icy streams of condensation. The cold and gooey strands fanning down the stone were most likely some sort of algae and as her fingers continued their exploration, the edge of the rock dipped sharply before rising up from a channel separating it from the next stone. The material filling this gap was just as coarse, but its surface was more uniform than the rocks surrounding it. It lacked the pits and crags of stone, and when she raked her fingernail across it, the material crumbled into powdery nuggets, confirming her suspicion: It was mortar.
    She wasn’t standing within a cave at all, but rather a room with stone walls. Of course, she’d never
really
believed she was in a cavern to begin with. The woman’s imagination had only toyed with the idea, exploring it as a possibility before moving on to a more probable explanation. Her initial guess, however, had not lacked potential evidence. The air was so damp she felt the moisture on the tip of her tongue and the musty scent of age tickled her nostrils like a sneeze that refused to come; somewhere in the darkness, water plinked and echoed while all else remained perfectly still. Combined with the complete lack of light, these things had indeed suggested a subterranean underworld far from the life-giving warmth of the sun. However, when the woman grazed her bare foot over the material beneath it, her toes detected the pattern of a floor cobbled with stonework…not hard-packed earth riddled with pebbles and a veneer of dust.
    Dungeon
.
    The word assaulted her mind like a mugger, jumping from the shadows that had previously cloaked it. Her body jolted with the vehemence of the word, almost as though she’d been physically grabbed.
    A dungeon?
She considered the idea as she chewed on her bottom lip.
But why? And how?
    There were no answers. She’d been wandering through the passages for what felt like hours, yet still had no idea of how she’d come to be in this place, regardless of exactly what it was. It was as if she’d been born fully grown into the lightless void, possessing no memories or experiences that didn’t involve dank air and walls hidden by the gloom. No one had been present to give her a name or hold her close as the first of many tears warmed her cheeks. She was received only by the darkness and left to piece the mystery together on her own.
    What disturbed the woman more than her complete lack of memory, however, was the ease with which she accepted it. Part of her mind insisted that her stomach should flip-flop with panic, that she should scream for help until her throat was bloodied and raw, until someone—
anyone
—answered her calls. But that part was no more than a whisper, easily pushed aside by the calm and methodical detachment with which she explored her surroundings.
    There was a reason she couldn’t remember, the woman thought; and if that reason were bad enough to obliterate every shred of who she’d been, perhaps she was better off not knowing. For she knew this was not simple amnesia triggered by head trauma. If that were the case, she’d have been in a hospital. Doctors and nurses would tend to her needs and psychologists would help her untangle the truth. But to have her mind wiped clean only to find herself in what, for all intents and purposes, certainly
felt
like a dungeon? No, that couldn’t be good at all. So she shuffled through the darkness with outstretched hands guiding the way, inching along only because it was preferable to standing still. At least movement kept blood flowing through her veins and provided a modicum of warmth. For that, if nothing else, she was grateful.
    The woman counted one