She was falling. And it didn’t matter because falling was glorious and if she turned just so and bent her knees just right she’d land perfectly. And it would be beautiful. Falling was beautiful. She closed her eyes and felt the wind on her face, the braids whipped about and cut into her cheeks and her neck before flying backwards with the rest of it. And for a moment she could pretend she was flying, that she was free. Free, falling. Diving through air, breath stolen from her lungs as much as diving through water stole the same.
Gravity was a universal force.