Living Like a Mouse? How About a Lion?

Window of Opportunity (or Disaster)

Okay. So, let's get this straight. I'm soaked to the bone, freezing, and locked in my room after being drenched in dirty water by my charming maids. And despite my very loud tantrum at the door, no one has come to my rescue. Not that I expected anyone to, but still.

Me: "Fine, universe. I get it. You hate me."

I glare at the door for a moment longer, half-hoping it'll magically unlock itself. But no, of course not. This is my life now. Sitting in a cold, wet room, in a cold, wet gown, with a cold, wet bed. What a night.

But if there's one thing I refuse to do, it's give up.

I need an escape route.

Think, Penelope, think. If the door isn't an option, then... well, what does that leave?

I glance over at the window. The large, fancy, second-story window.

Now, normally, people wouldn't consider a second-story drop as a good alternative to a door. But I'm not normal people. And right now, I'm running on pure spite.

Me: "I've climbed out of worse."

Spoiler alert: I have not climbed out of worse. But hey, there's a first time for everything, right?

I walk over to the window, gripping the cold, iron latch. It's stiff from disuse—probably hasn't been opened in months, if not years. Perfect. Exactly what I need right now.

Me: "Come on, you stupid thing..."

I yank on the latch, and for a horrifying second, I think it's stuck. But then, with a loud creak, the window flies open, slamming against the outside wall with a satisfying bang. A gust of cold night air rushes in, making me shiver, but it's better than being trapped inside.

I lean out, taking a look at the drop below. It's... well, it's not ideal. The ground is far enough away that this could go either really well or really, really badly.

Me: "Not great. But I've survived worse."

No, you haven't, a little voice in my head says, but I ignore it. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

I brace myself, gripping the windowsill, and stick one leg out.

Me: "This is fine. This is totally fine."

I swing the other leg out, carefully balancing myself on the ledge. I'm about to start climbing down—and let's not think too hard about how disastrous that could be—when suddenly, a voice from below shatters the silence.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Oh no.

I freeze, halfway out the window, and slowly—very slowly—peek down.

And there, standing directly below me, is none other than my brother, Reynold.

Me: "Oh, fantastic. Just what I needed."

His room is right below mine, of course. Of course. Because the universe has decided that, on top of everything else, I'm also getting caught mid-escape by the one person who loves nothing more than to criticize every dumb thing I do.

Reynold's standing there with his arms crossed, glaring up at me like I'm some kind of idiot. Which, okay, fine, maybe this wasn't my best plan, but he doesn't need to be so smug about it.

"Get back inside, Penelope," he snaps, his voice dripping with annoyance. "What are you even doing?"

I narrow my eyes at him, hanging precariously out the window like some kind of rebellious squirrel.