This isn't Gesholme. But it has to be. She can't have left: that'd be impossible.

The young woman - blonde, dressed in the rough robe of a lowly worker in a hot climate with shackle-scars on her ankles - shuts her eyes very firmly. It's an hallucination. Too much work, too much heat, too long spent in cramped buildings with nothing but torch-light.

Then she opens her eyes.

She's still here.

"Oh, no," she whispers.