You hurl the needles into the nearest trash can and bolt before the grandmothers can tighten their yarn-laced grip. They hiss curses as you vanish into the night, doomed to forever glance over your shoulder in fear of a rogue scarf or ambush afghan. Years later, you still flinch at the faint click-clack of knitting needles, haunted by the empire you abandoned. Would you like to draw another card?