Sunny padded through the house on silent feet, still all in her ghostly white--white skin and white dress and white shoes--but now there was a new color here, made all the sharper by the contrast. The green of it stood out like a shout in her hand, even before one could properly see it was the blade of a knife. Not a large one, but held with purpose like she meant to use it.

On what, though, might not be so clear.

She could not always hear it. Sometimes the sound of it would fade, softening back down into obscurity. But the thrum of the beat never seemed to leave Sunny's perception.

There was a joke here, about a wizard in white hearing what she heard, but there it was and Gandalf's orcs didn't have shit on this. Drums. Drums in the deep.

And if they came up from those depths, God help her and every other soul in these walls.