When she wakes up, she is a room and a hallway.
No, that last line isn't a mistake.
She's in a clearly artificial cave made up of a single room and a hallway, both walled, floored and roofed with raw yellowish-brown dirt that somehow manages to stay stable under its own weight. The hall's about thirty feet long and ends with the powerful glare of the sun illuminating a short flight of stairs. The room is almost perfectly square, about 16 feet to a side, and in the middle sits a simple granite pedestal, barely more than a stone cylinder with a square tile on top. There is a little grey sphere about the size of a tennis ball hovering about a foot above the pedestal, glowing with a light of its own. It's the only source of light down there.
Her name is written on that pedestal: Ellen.