Despite Lucille's efforts, her heels clacked ever so softly against the stairs and echoed gently through the darkness. As the surface and torchlight quickly faded, supernatural vision instinctively kicked on with the shimmer of her eyes. It seemed as though the place were designed to favor one of such abilities. Various pressure plates that Lucille wouldn't have noticed under dim lighting conditions -until it was too late- made themselves readily apparent and easy to dance around. The deeper she progressed, the thicker the moss became. As its spores tickled her senses and clung to her bare flesh, a light fire was set within her. It was a low flame that showed no signs of mounting. The thicker the moss became, the more Lucille could swear she were hearing impish, gutteral giggles bouncing off the walls.