Cynthia tilts her glass back and forth and watches the way the firelight plays on the wine. You try to get her to confide in you, but all she does is sigh.
Cynthia has large blue eyes and a spider's-nest of unkempt dark hair. 'I wish I could return to London,' she says, 'Where my beloved languishes still. But this place is sacred to… well, that thing, which is no doubt why you're here,'
