For a time, Eleanor simply sat in her cell, huddled in the fading warmth of her burning robes and watching the flames slowly burn down into embers. The sun had set long ago by the time the last of the flames died away, leaving her alone in the darkness of her cell as the cold of a winter night seeped in.
Inwardly, she knew that she should get up off the cold, stone floor of her cell. Much like wading into the cold sea would leech warmth from the body, so too would remaining on the ground. If she wanted to stay warm, if she wanted to survive, she needed to leave the burned scraps of her sacred robes behind and move to the dungeon cell's rickety cot. It wouldn't be any more comfortable than the stone floor, but it would at least be warmer.
