It doesn't hurt. Not exactly. It seems like it ought to, though.

She was falling. For a moment, she'd thought she might stop falling. Then she did.

It happened too quickly to hurt. Then, there was darkness.

Awareness returns slowly. Almost like waking up.

It's quiet, here. But there are a few soft noises. A slight swishing. The creak of a hinge.

It's still, here. Peaceful. But there's a slight motion. A sense of rocking. Smooth, gentle.

It's dark, here. But there is a source of light. Flickering, swaying. A candle in a lantern.

Other things come into focus slowly, through a thick fog. Placid black water. Barren trees. A thin figure, pulling an oar. Skeletally thin.

She gradually comes to realise that she's on a boat. It's unclear whether there are other passengers. It seems oddly effortful to check.

In fact, everything seems far more effortful than it ought to be. It could be an oppressive sensation, but it isn't. It's quite peaceful, actually.

She doesn't have to do anything. Not even breathe. Why not rest here for a while? There's no hurry.