Stealing Sister from Cold Palace

The night in the cold palace is like frozen ink, cold and hard. I clung to the blue brick wall and slid down bit by bit. All I felt with my fingertips was biting coldness and slippery moss. The dry well was narrow and cramped, like the throat of a rotten monster, and the musty moisture was so thick that it was almost suffocating. The bottom of the well was dark and dark, with only the pale moonlight cast from above swaying faintly.