With her legs numb from a lack of flowing blood, she trips and stumbles as if she were skating on ice. The table in the kitchen is a few feet ahead, and for a moment, she thinks she might be able to cling onto it to stop herself from falling, yet it’s just a smidge out of reach. Sprawling flat on her face, she collapses into the wooden legs and smacks her head. For a second, all she sees is an infinite wall of white as vast as the moon. Slowly receding, the whiteness is reclaimed by the darkness. Rubbing the bump on her forehead that’s already begun to sprout, she bites her lip, trying not to cry. It’s not that the pain is too much for her to bear; rather, the nature of the situation she finds herself in is beginning to sink in. And to think only minutes before she’d been in her special place, roaming the fields with the animals—seeking the light of a time and place unchained to anything in the world. Wiping away a tear with the back of her hand, she again hears rustling and, if she’s not mistaken, a slight wheeze as if escaping from a ravaged throat. Looking up from the floor, she brings her hands to her face and peers through her fingers. She sees nothing, but just because she doesn’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there, and the longer the moment stretches, the more she knows it’s only a matter of time before whatever happens is going to happen. Clawing at the chair, she pulls herself up. Hunched over like the little lost soul she is, she punches her legs, trying to get the blood pumping in them again. Once she does, she tells herself she’s going to make a mad dash to her room. She doesn’t care if it makes her a coward. Not one bit.