It was only a spark at first, more golden than torchlight. She thought perhaps it was not really there, because it looked like the gold sparks that came when she rubbed her eyelids. But it strengthened and came closer and closer still, illuminating the walls with their carvings of cold, dead kings. It was a woman. Where she walked, she kicked up clouds of light, like dust. Marra lifted her eyes and saw that the woman held a severed hand in her right hand and that her left wrist ended in a stump. It was the saint from the goblin market.
