Dread. The feeling of knowing something is coming long in advance and having it weigh on your chest. Pushing you to pull the covers above your head and pretend the day doesn't exist. Ryene wasn't the type to give in to dread. But standing on the ledge of the cliff, feeling the cold rock on her bare feet and curled toes made her wish she was. She was regretting getting out of her covers, And dreading what was to come. She knew, though, that this wasn't up to her.
Ryene had known this moment was coming for as long as she could remember; but something between blind hope and childish naivety kept her believing that if she drowned out the thought for long enough, it would go away. For a long enough time, that dream held true too. Until today. The cover she built crashing down and shattering in front of her, crumbling to a pathetic mess of empty faith. And when the bleak reality stared her down, waiting with eager jaws to swallow her hope altogether, all she could do was stand and stare back.
And she did.
After what felt like an eternity of silence, she uncurled her arms from her chest and stretched her fingertips to either side as far as she could. She leaned forward; more and more until she felt the soles of her feet become free of the harsh ground. She had become at the whim of gravity.
"Ten," she said, and she watched the ground come towards her.
"Nine," and the wind took hold of her, making her ears cold, and her long black hair tug back.
"Eight," the ground moved closer.
"Seven," her eyes began to water, irritated by the growing speed.
"Six," the ground moved closer still.
"Five," the irritation in her eyes disguised the tears.
"Four," the ground did not give up its relentless approach.
"Three," she shut her eyes as tightly as she could. And couldn't help but tense slightly, preparing herself for what was to come.
"Two," the ground was here.
"One."
