Despite ramming the door over and over, all she managed to do was dislodge a few pieces of wood and bruise her shoulder even more. Now well and truly on edge, she cast a fearful look back at the darkness behind her, half-expecting something to come running at her now that she had realized she was trapped, but for the moment, she was alone. This wasn't coincidence. Doors didn't just jam shut on their own, and no mundane draft would have come in like a cyclone--something was in these ruins with her, and it was<i>toying </i>with her, like she was prey.<br/><br/>She wanted to shout out to the darkness, challenging the thing she was certain was out there, watching her struggle to escape the trap she had blundered into. She was almost afraid to disturb the silence with her voice, however, some primal part of her mind warning her to stay quiet and hidden, despite the fact that whatever was stalking her had likely already found her. Instead, she reached down to flick the safety off of her crossbow's trigger, the distinct<b><i>clank</i></b>echoing down the hall. The noise was an unspoken threat to whatever was out there. Supernatural or not, a cold-iron bolt with almost three hundred pounds of force behind it was going to hurt.<br/><br/>As she stood with her back to the door, eyes wide in a desperate attempt to catch what little light stole through the cracks in the wood, she became aware of a deep, biting cold that began to steal down the hallway, springing up far faster than was natural. Not even the chill outside had been this severe, and she hunched her shoulders against it, tugging her cloak's hood up over her head.<b>"Is that the best you've got?" </b>she challenged finally, her voice ringing down the silent hall. She had no idea exactly what she was speaking to, but she would not allow it to see her fear. The cold was increasingly rapidly, however, ice beginning to bloom on the walls and floor. Her breath came in foggy exhalations as she tried the door again, but it still refused to open. Liirah knelt, huddling on the floor, and began to collect the wood shards her ramming had dislodged, sweeping them into a pile. With numb fingers, she fumbled for her flint-and-steel, finally succeeding in pulling it from its pouch on her belt.<b>"Come on, come on..."</b>she whispered as she struck up sparks onto the pile of kindling. Finally, they took, and she cupped her hands around the tiny flame, gently blowing on it. As it slowly grew, she stood up to try and pry a few more pieces of wood off the door with her knife, adding them to the small campfire, then crouched back down next to it, holding her hands out to the paltry warmth. She had light now, and a bit of heat, but she was still trapped down here with gods-only-knew what. That fire would die eventually, and if she hadn't found a way out by then, these ruins would become her tomb.