HERA
Freedom at last.
Or so I thought.
It isn’t until the whistling, biting winds that tend to prevail on high hills press my cloak against me that I realize my foolishness.
And I stop with a loud gasp, digging in my heels and gripping the door hard.
Just in time to avoid falling to my death.
I stare out the door at the dead drop of over a hundred feet.
Another step and I would have fallen headlong into the waiting arms of the many small rocks littered at the feet of the castle’s dark hills.
Unless I turned into a mountain goat and learned to climb down or I suddenly grew wings and flew over the jagged peaks of Dragon’s mount, there was no getting away through this door.
A strangled laugh finds its way to my throat, breaking into a sob at the end.
Why is there even a door here?
