"She does not fall, nor rise— but hovers in a hush between endings and beginnings. Eyes closed, face lifted, she listens for the silence light makes when it touches something long hidden. A jellyfish—ancient, weightless— blooms across her being, its tendrils threading through memory, through marrow, a ghost of the deep now gently becoming her skin. It is not burden, but memory: translucent, alive. Around her, the dark does not fight. It simply loosens. It recedes without rage, as though even shadow knows when it’s time to let something go. She is no longer drowning. She is no longer held. She is becoming what only light can carry."
