The dungeon reeks of exactly what you'd expect: rot and damp and sickness and death. It makes your stomach churn but you push forward, moving stealthily through the corridors of cells. And then... you find her. Mary. Slumped against the stone wall, emancipated and ill, barely conscious and breathing shallow. Her brown hair is ragged and clings to the sides of her face, her complexion sickeningly pale.

The sound of you picking the lock to her cell door makes her eyes slowly peel open, her vision groggy and blurred. "Lass?" Mary's unsure voice is a strained croak, her mind clouded with exhaustion but her gaze eventually manages to blearily focus on you. "What're you... No. Go. You have to go-" a cough wheezes in her chest as she tries to push you away. "Please, they- they took the baby. They took her."

Her. A girl. It was a girl.