Lucia Corina follows in his wake, footsteps careful and near-soundless in the dark, never tangled in the debris on the floor she cannot see. She hums under her breath in the spaces between speech, the halls too dark and the sounds of the storm not enough to make the silence better than uneasy, filling it with music an unconscious habit.

"It is... very decayed. Time has taken... much." Her voice echoes a little for a moment, then returns to normal. "Hopefully time hasn't taken any stairs."