Even if it means I might actually die of a heart attack halfway up.
I grab the rope ladder.
It swings under my weight, unstable and terrifying, but I don't let go.
One rung. Then another.
My arms shake. My legs shake. Everything shakes.
The ground falls away beneath me and my stomach lurches but I keep climbing because if I stop I'll think about how high I am, and if I think about it I'll freeze, and if I freeze I'll fall and?—
Don't look down. Don't look down.Don't look fucking down.
I look down.
The clearing is so far away it doesn't even look real anymore. Just green blur and shadows andoh god oh god oh god?—
Keep climbing.
Rung, after rung, after rung.
My palms are slick with sweat. The rope burns against my skin. My thighs tremble with the effort of keeping myself steady.
When I finally haul myself over the edge of the platform, I collapse face-down on the wood, gasping.
The planks are warm under my cheek. Rough. Real.
I made it.
I'm not dead.
Yet.
When I can breathe again, I lift my head.
There's a narrow plank extending out from the main platform—maybe eight feet long, two feet wide. At the end, a wooden box with a latch.
Behind me, closer to the trunk, a thick beam mounted horizontally between two branches. Sturdy. Waist-height. With metal eyebolts screwed into the wood on either side.
I know exactly what those are for.
Next to the beam, another card.
Of course.
I crawl over—I'm not standing up, fuck that, I'm staying as low as possible—and read it.
Walk the plank. Retrieve your restraints. Return to the beam. Bend over it. Secure your right ankle to the eyebolt on the right. Secure your left wrist to the eyebolt on the left. Wait for your Master.
My hands won't stop shaking.
I look at the plank.
Then at the box.
Then down at the ground, which is so far away I can barely process the distance.
He wants me to walk out there.
