Cindy lay down on her secondhand couch, still in her silk robe, and let the hum pull her under. She woke on a hillside.

This Cindy wore no makeup, no heels, no designer anxiety. Her hair was loose and tangled with tiny white blossoms. Her feet were bare, her dress was simple linen the color of rain. She was laughing at something the wind had whispered.

She accepted, but not with desperation. With the quiet certainty of someone who had seen herself in a place without applause and found her beautiful there first.

A note accompanied it, written in elegant, looping script: “Turn the dial to your deepest wish. Press ‘Sueño.’ Then sleep.”

“How do I stay?” she whispered.

“Who are you?” real-Cindy asked, though she already knew.