The deed done, you wipe your mouth.

It's been a long time since you've forced yourself to throw up. It's already an unpleasant experience but it's made worse by the fact that you're already sick enough. Despite how you feel about the food, you needed it.

Grabbing up the poker, you spread the coals, concealing your crime, then rest back on your knees as you take a shaky breath.

You feel weaker than ever. A cold sweat is breaking out on your chest and forehead. Your hands are trembling. You wince; the pain is getting worse too. The drug has worn off completely now. 

With a groan, you climb to your feet. You stagger and need the wall to keep your balance. When the room stops spinning enough to make the short distance to the bed, you crash into it.

You must escape but you need to sleep first. Before you drift away, images of all the disgusting things you did tonight flash across your mind. Revolted, you bite into the pillow.

The next time you wake you feel much better. It was such a heavy sleep that it's difficult to unstick your eyelids. The first things you notice is that you're both starving and busting to urinate. Abashed, you finish up with the chamber pot before heading to the desk. A new dish has replaced the steak. You lift the closh and frown—chicken, but there is a handful of potatoes you can eat and a couple of stalks of asparagus.

You wolf them down, then drink straight from the jug. Good. Juice. You really need the sugar. After you've eaten as much as you can, you leap into action. How long have you slept? Is it evening yet?

You head over to the windows. Please, no. Please, no. Let it be daylight. Give me a chance! As you peer between the curtains you give a little squeal of delight. Yes! But it won't be for long. You can't be certain, but it feels like it's beyond midday. How far away twilight is you can't say for sure. All you know is that time is wasting and you need to act now!

One by one, you strip the coverings from your bed. Is there enough to reach the ground? You'll soon find out. You knot them together, using all the strength you have in your small hands to make sure they're as tight as they can be. The last thing you want is for a knot to loosen and send you plummeting to your death.

The thought makes you wince. Then you gasp and clutch at your head. 'Goddamnit, go away!' You grit your teeth as the headache slowly fades into a dull throb. At least the ache in your legs has improved but there are other queer pains now: in your shoulders, in your hips, along your spine. You arch your back with a groan but keep going with your plan.

You move as fast as you can, listening for any sound of someone at the door. For the last two days those three winged men have come in to give you food, replace your chamber pot and rub that damn lotion all over you. You expect the same today. But luckily you manage to finish your task before they appear.

You look around the room, trying to find something to tie the end onto. All you have is the nearest bedpost. You twist your mouth doubtfully. All you can do is hope you have enough linen to stretch across the room as well as through the window and all the way to the ground.

Once you've triple tied your 'rope' to the bed, you draw back the curtains and toss it through the window. Shielding your face against the glare, you look down. Your heart sinks. It doesn't reach the ground. Not even close. By your estimate there's probably at least a twelve foot gap.

Shit.

You bite your lip. There're one of three possibilities: you could badly injure yourself, break your neck or you could end up absolutely fine—if you fall the right way. But who knows how to fall the right way?

What other option is there? You must escape. Be brave. You must be brave.

'God help me,' you say as you grab onto the 'rope' and crawl through the window. Your hands are already shaking. Your heart is pounding. The ground didn't look so far away before. Taking a deep breath, you slowly shift your bottom out through the window, squealing as you slowly ease yourself over the edge.

Your knuckles scrape against the castle stone but you hardly feel it as you concentrate on not falling to your death. You're dangling over the side, looking down between your feet. Your arms are trembling with the pull of your weight but it's easier than you dreaded. You're obviously stronger than you thought.

Hand over hand, you lower yourself. You've climbed a small way down before you realise that it's much easier with your feet braced up against the wall.

Tears are streaming down your face. Not because you're frightened (though you're certainly that!) but from the strain. You've never focused so hard on something in all your life. Your chest feels tight because you're panting so hard. Your hands are starting to ache. But at least the rest of you is strong.

Surprisingly strong.

Finally, you reach the bottom of the rope. You look between your feet. There is soft grass below and it's on a partial slope. Maybe if you push off from the wall a little you might be able to drop down in a way that will have you tumble over your feet so you can throw your weight ahead and your poor ankles don't get the full brunt of the fall.

Isn't that how free runners do it?

You gulp; you can almost hear your bones cracking. You will yourself to let go but it seems like a long time that you just hang there. No matter what you tell yourself, your hands are incapable of letting go.

Let go. Let go. Let go.

You look up with a jolt at a sudden screech. It's a bird flying high above. You think of the flying men. Every moment you lose is a moment they gain.

Let go!

You suck in a breath as your hands finally release. Time seems to slow down, as though you're falling into an abyss, not twelve short feet. The glare of the burning blue burns your eyes. The forest rises darkly into view.

Then whump. You hit the ground and the force of it jars through your body. For several moments you don't move, crouched as you are, your feet planted firmly on the ground, your hands buried in the grass. You haven't fallen the way you were supposed to. You didn't tumble but landed directly on your feet. You hold your breath as you wait for the pain, for your ears to stop ringing, for the full weight of reality to come crashing down.

Nothing.

A bird is chirping in the branches of the nearest tree. The bird above the castle flies in slow, wide circles. Slowly, you realise everything's okay: you're not dead, there's no pain, there was no awful crack of a snapping bone.

You've survived—intact.

Slowly, you straighten. You look down at yourself in disbelief. You can't believe what you've just accomplished. You've never felt so proud of yourself.

You look down at your palms. They're aching from the climb, enflamed and scratched up, but it's nothing you can't handle. You clench them into fists.

Time to go.