There she was, standing again at the edge of the cliff. The only way forwards is through a hair-like thin substance of a rope serving as the bridge.
She would still have flashbacks of old days. Apparently her scars were not as filled as she thought they‘d be. She was still very vulnerable. Still very scared.
And still the only way for her was way forwards.
So she stood there, quietly absorbing all this energy. Staring into mist, trying to visualise the other end of the edge. It was not the finality, she was dubious about, it was the course she had to take to reach that. It was a blind leap of faith. Yet again. Suddenly all her scars were lit, accompanying her on the journey like an unwanted caravan of chaotic pilgrims.
Word Prompt: Dubious