She looked over the jagged edge of the chasm, taking in with widened eyes the plunging depths that seemed to echo on forever down below. Grasses, green and lush, covered incessantly every inch of the ground, and more green algae grew on the jagged boulders that laced the floor of the crevice. Through the boulders flowed a swift stream that ran fast and with a crushing noise, very intense and very alive. Everything seemed to be growing in this place. She could hear the roots of the trees stretching and groaning; she could smell the soil as it moved, alive, beneath her feet…

Heart beating voluntarily at the dizzying sight, she tried to calm herself with deep breaths, but with each breath the air seemed to grow thicker and thicker and caught somewhere in her throat until she felt as though she were drowning in a sea of unbreathable air. Gasping, she fell to her knees. The damp breezes swept by her, over her, through her hair. They were taunting, enslaving. The chasm was deep – so deep, and wide. There was no bridge of any sort with which to cross it; this place was too wild for something that domestic. She could never reach the other side.

Like the hand of a giant, the wind swept against her side, pushing her nearer to the edge. With every gust her fear and resistance weakened and her curiosity grew. What was it that was so appealing about the other side of the chasm? Was it the intrigue of what might lay hidden behind its entangled masses of moss and ivy? Was it the soft, sweet smell of the waters that divided it from the threshold on which she stood? Or was it the beautiful absence of any sort of path? Nothing but a stretch of unwritten, virginal grasses.

Her strength was gone. Her reason was gone. The depths dizzied her, and with another strong gust she was pummeled over the edge of the crevice.