...She dances alone in a cavern where no god has looked in ten thousand years. The stone walls weep silver water, and her hair, long and silver, shot through with starlight she stole from somewhere, moves as though underwater, as though the deep earth itself breathes with her. Around her, the shadows recoil. Not because she is good; she has killed, will kill again. But because she chose to stop breaking, chose instead to make space where others could stop breaking too. A drow woman watches from the dark mouth of a tunnel, afraid to step forward, afraid to stay hidden. Eilistraee does not turn, does not speak, does not offer mercy. She only dances, and her feet mark time, and somewhere in that rhythm is permission. When the woman finally weeps, even the stone stops trembling....