You see a girl in the palace hallway dressed as a high ranking palace slave listening surreptitiously through the space between two double doors. She seems to be in her teens, and hasn't noticed you yet. She's raised up on the balls of her feet, leaning forward, straining to get every word, the hem of her dress hovering just above the floor as she furtively leans over.

The light from the torches flickered, casting deep orange shapes to dance along the hallway, carving deep shadows on the reliefs of deities on the walls and columns, and highlighting the girl's face and arms in a umber light, with tiny, elongated sparkles giving evidence to the sheer network of black beads of Mara's sheath dress.