Ginevra had to escape before tomorrow came. The truth of it shone in front of her, brighter than the magical lantern on the wall of her cell.
She was too close to breaking. Too dangerously close. Even now, she could feel that painful sensation in her heart that brought to mind the memory of Cael's teasing smile and his gentle touch.
It was the worst feminine affliction, one that weakened not the body, but the soul itself. Infatuation.
So, as soon as Cael left, Ginevra began to plan her escape. She examined for a hundredth time the protective glyphs in the walls of her cell, searching for weak spots; recalled the schedule of guards' shifts; remembered what she knew about the geography around the city.
She rested, too. Her body, healed by Cael's strange magic, was as strong as ever, but not infallible. The days with little exercise didn't help either.
In the dead of night, Ginevra began her escape. It would be hard, but not impossible.