She falls; plummeting, speed escalating, hurtling down, but seeming to never reach the ground. At least if she were to reach the ground she could attempt to get off her back and stand up, or even use her knees to attempt to put a solid force on the ground. (The ground would most likely quake below her anyway though.) But this is not possible. Spiraling out of control, she could probably give in; she should probably just give in and let herself settle and find comfort in falling. But there is always that recurring voice that whispers to her: one day she will see the ground and it will be moving faster and faster toward her. And the time will come when falling will feel natural, she will trust it, and then suddenly she will find the ground rising toward her. She’s going to take a hard hit; it will knock her to her knees, and at that exact, pin-point moment, she will feel as though the joints in her knees are nonexistent; as if her hands lack all ability to find a steady ground to push up on; as if her shoulders have three tons of weight pushing her into the rocks that jag out into her knees; as if her neck has lost all muscle to pick up her beautiful head so that she can look reality square in the face.
But strength grows and pain subsides; it always does. And giving up is not an option. Her friends will help her rise to her feet, her family will lift the heavy weights that kept her immobile, and a love will come along to lift that beautiful head so that when she does look up, her eyes stare into a reality that will not let her fall again.