I learned to trust myself then, and my confidence in my instincts has rarely wavered since; it‘s certainly been stronger than my confidence in my social skills or my hairstyling abilities. But now what? How can I trust myself when I don‘t understand what is happening in my own body? Somehow I magically caused that wall to crash through the earth‘s crust. Which sounds crazy. Which is crazy, I correct. And sitting here now on the edge of a mysterious forest, unsure of where I am or, for that matter, what I am, I realize that I don‘t trust myself anymore. That‘s when I start sobbing. I‘m not one of those girls who cries pretty, the way girls in movies do. My eyelids get fat right away and my ribs tighten, as if they‘re pushing their way up to my head. I shake back and forth like a toddler and I get the hiccups within a few seconds. Then I bury my head in my knees, as if trying to make myself small enough to fit in a suitcase. That‘s why I don‘t see her coming. When I lift my head up for air, the nymph is sitting right in front of me.
