There’s no cellar—and yet, she knows there is. There is. Access from the garden? No: too observably public, and too prone to discovery by the spawning local youth. She paces back and forth, knowing she will find it. She’s thinking with her feet, letting them take her where they will. Bathroom, living room, library corridor, round and round. She even tries the first floor, thinking that perhaps there’s some weird back stairway constructed for servants in its day. No. Her pace quickens with each failure, a feverish energy building in her heels, springing her around. Must be here. Must be here. Think with your feet. Catabasis : a journey into the underworld. Greek: "kata," meaning down or against; "basis," meaning the ground beneath your feet, but literally—