For a moment, the falling feels like something else entirely—like a brief, wild glimpse of freedom.

But the surface comes too soon, shattering against her skin—a pane of glass—knocking the air from her lungs. Or perhaps it is she who has shattered. She is no longer herself, no longer a single person but divided and adrift in the darkness. The burn in her lungs is too unbearable; her mind begins to soften to make room for the pain.

Strange thoughts come to her through the cold: Here there is no beauty.

This much is an unexpected relief.

But the body wants what it wants: please, it begs. Her body begins to fight; her face seeks the sparse starlight above, already so far away. Someone once told her that the stars were merely sewing pins, holding the black sky up so that it did not come down on the world and suffocate it. Her brief calm gives way to panic. A powerful, unstoppable desire possesses her—it isn’t life calling to her, demanding another chance, but love. We all deserve a second chance. The thought seems to arise not from within her but around her, even as the currents pull her deeper, as a frigid fog entangles her mind.

The surface is unfathomably high now, untouchable. The cold is everywhere, pushing, begging to be let in.

I can give you another chance, the waters seem to say. I can make all of this go away if you let me.

It is a promise. The waves are no longer pulling her down but holding her in their arms, waiting for her response.

She opens her mouth at last. Water floods in, forming the answer.