Or would it be underkill? As in, many knots reduce my chances of falling to my death.
I giggle under my breath, even though I know the joke is lame. But I need the humor to avoid thinking about how stupid my next move is.
Satisfied with my knots, I decide not to dwell on silly things like the odds of breaking my neck.
Peeking out the window, I’m relieved that the castle grounds are still devoid of all signs of life. For a castle, this place is weirdly deserted. The Council’s castle had people all around it.
I’m getting the sneaking suspicion that Sin and Morgana don’t have any friends.
That checks out. I’m guessing being evil villains probably doesn’t mesh well with sending out holiday cards.
I toss the rest of the rope out the window. It doesn’t quite reach the ground, but it looks like I’ll only be falling about eight feet instead of neck-breaking height. I throw the cloak down next. It billows down before landing in a heap.
My stomach twists at the sight.
I really hope the rope holds.
The window ledge is wide, and I gingerly lay across it, lowering my legs over the edge. I hold on to the rope for dear life.
Thankfully, the bed doesn’t budge, despite my added weight.
That’s promising.
I start to shimmy over the ledge. The cuts on my hands sting as they rub against the fabric. But rather thanfocusing on the pain, I keep my eyes trained on the rope, admiring my blanket braiding craftsmanship.
My climbing efforts are about as graceful as my attempt at stealing a surfboard. Painful for me and riddled with second-hand embarrassment for anyone who might be watching.
But considering I haven’t broken my neck yet, I think I’m nailing this.
Another breath, and I’m fully off the ledge.
My entire life is suspended midair. The wind blows my body around, and I take this moment to feel grateful that I’m claustrophobic and not afraid of heights.
The blanket rope is holding, and before my arms can tire out, I plant my feet against the stone wall and start to climb down. It takes no time for my muscles to burn, but I push through the pain and keep climbing.
I’m making good progress when, suddenly, the rope goes slightly more slack, and I drop a few inches.
It takes every ounce of my self-control not to scream. There must be a knot coming undone.
It’s times like this when I really wish I had taken the initiative to join Girl Scouts as a child. I’m guessing normal knots might not be recommended for death-defying climbs.
Hustling now, I keep moving down the rope as fast as my sore body will allow me.
This probably counts as another adrenaline-inducing activity.
I’mreallycounting on it not being another near-death or full-death experience.
Sweat is starting to drip down my forehead into my eyes. It’s warm, like an early summer day back home onthe coast. There’s a mugginess and humidity in the air that is starting to feel stifling.
My hands are cramping.
I don’t dare look down and keep climbing, willing my knots to hold just a little longer.
The knots do not, in fact, hold.
I’m just about to give myself another mental pep talk when the rope goes fully slack.
I fall.
