The window smashes gracefully; the shattering sound is surprisingly satisfying to you. You realize, in the back of your mind, that you somewhat enjoyed that act of vandalism. You vault yourself over the windowsill and hop off onto the floor.
The floor stubbornly refuses to meet your feet.
You first realize something is wrong about a second in, when you notice that you are still falling. You consider panicking, then choose instead to enjoy the ride. Another second goes by, then you land clumsily on a small cot covered with shards of glass and a brick.
The only illumination is from the few rays of sunlight that stream pitifully through the window you broke—you can see the beams stab through the cloud of dust rising gently above you. But even in the darkness, you can see the grimy brick walls and cold stone floor that contain you.
You do not know what to call your surroundings. Basement? Dungeon? Badly-designed conversation pit? After a brief internal debate, you decide to go with "dungeon", since it has that dungeon-ey ambiance.
A curtain hangs through an arched doorway, its sardonic floral print offending the interior decorator within you. A wooden ladder leans precariously against the opposite wall. Spiderwebs span the spaces between the rungs, and you try not to imagine what other arthropods might be lurking around you.
You begin to regret jumping through the window.
Try to climb the ladder and return to the surface.