30: Basement Rapunzel Vibrates Lemon. Angry Penguin Watches on Disgrunted Skateboard. Red Gloves Receive Tune of Rage.

Rosalyn is not tired of making the music. Her back is aching from where she is pressing it against the shelves. Her teeth feel like they are about to judder out of her jaw - the vibrations are strong down here. Her toes are numb, the pictures on the observation monitors are flickering, and things are working their way to the edge of the shelves. But she won't stop. She can't stop.

The first thing to fall is a stuffed penguin riding a skateboard. That's something Rosalyn found in the Children's Library. It bounces off the dirty concrete floor and comes to rest between her feet. Rosalyn can't kick it away, but the floor itself is moving and shifts it for her.

Rosalyn wonders why no-one comes down here for their Lost property. She wonders why no-one loves these objects enough to retrieve them. She wonders why no-one comes to see her. Her hair is loose and is flies around her, crackling with static electricity that sparkles blue and green in the dark.

Rosalyn has very few memories: her years in the dark seem to have obscured them from her. But she remembers one visit, many years ago. A young man, searching for somewhere quiet to lift weights in his lunch hour. Just passed his Working At Depths certificate. They don't let the staff take it anymore. When she heard his footsteps on the stairs, she'd shaken her hair loose then too. She'd pulled the hem of her dress straight. She wondered if there was enough tea in her thermos for two. She coughed, just to test if her voice still worked.

And he'd looked at her, scratched his crotch, and laughed.

'Look at your hair!' he'd said, 'you could stuff a pigging mattress!'

Rosalyn doesn't remember what happened next. It could be that he had wandered around her shelves and cabinets, tutting at dust and ignoring her. It could be that he'd found the dark and the dust and the damp unsuitable to his body building. Perhaps he had pulled her fingers from his shirt material and vanished into the lift before she could show him the treasure down here. It could be that he'd forgotten all about her by now. It was years ago. Long enough for her to stop imagining what lying down on a mattress filled with her own hair might feel like.

She moves her hands slightly, adjusting her grip on the lemon and the red leather gloves. She hisses - she can't help it - and changes the tune. She wants to make the whole building as angry as she is.