[She smiles back, much too enthusiastically for someone stuck in a prison cell without much in the way of tools to fashion some sort of escape.] That window… what kind of metal do you think those little bars are?
[A rhyme tickles the back of her mind, but it isn’t clear enough to say aloud.]
no subject
[A rhyme tickles the back of her mind, but it isn’t clear enough to say aloud.]