There was only a dirty, tattered stream of light and she loved it. It gave her some sort of hope, if there was hope left in her. The bones were overly dramatic, but that was Imperials for you. She thought of that, of smarting remarks she'd say to those who'd never hear them. Better than thinking about lying here in the dust, to become bones for other prisoners to stare at in horrified fascination.
She knocks the jug that leaks into the dirt and it shatters, and there is bright red on her fist.
That's when she hears that arrogant, female voice.