Stealing My Sister from the Cold Palace

The night in the Cold Palace was like frozen ink, cold and hard. Clinging to the blue-brick wall, I slid down little by little. All my fingertips touched was bone-chilling dampness and slick moss. The dry well was narrow and cramped, like the throat of a rotting monster. The thick, musty damp air was almost suffocating. Farther down, the bottom of the well was pitch-black, with only a faint, miserable glimmer of moonlight wavering overhead.