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nebula (n.)
mid-15c., nebule "a cloud, mist," from Latin nebula, plural nebulae, "mist, vapor, fog, smoke, exhalation," figuratively "darkness, obscurity," from PIE root *nebh- "cloud."

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The office of Alice Stein, LPC, Morris Plains, New Jersey…

“You seem a bit…brighter today.”

“Yes.”

“How have you been since our last time?” Alice stressed the word ‘been.’

“I did well.” Misty looked away. Alice went to speak but the girl saved her the trouble.

“I know… I am better. I…. I visited his grave.

“That must have been so hard.”

“It was… I have… I am letting it all go.”

“I know, and that’s a very difficult thing to face…” Alice paused, knowing that the girl was all too keenly aware that forgiveness is a process. Misty blinked as her mouth eased into a half-smile.

“It doesn’t go away. I wish it did.”

“You’re only human,” Alice reminded the girl. An increasingly ironic adage given how her father’s treatment was anything but humane. Misty touched the top of her head absentmindedly at first, but her hand lingered on her closely cropped scalp.

“You have every freedom to do what you want,” Alice said slowly, but quickly added, “to be whom you wish to be.” Misty looked away, her face a mixture of sadness and relief.

“Yet you still wear your hair like that,” Alice said almost in a whisper.

“Yes…” Misty’s voice trailed off as fantasy seemed to crash and mingle with the reality of her life…

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The two sisters on the wide screen and sighed. She tried very hard not to cry when she heard the exchange but silent tears cascaded from her face.

"You were the one who wanted to win. And I just wanted a sister! You were all I had, but you were the one who needed to win.”

The blue girl’s eyes flashed in anger and envy over the treatment their father visited upon her. A rivalry which no one joined but in which each nevertheless competed. Abuse unspeakable committed against the girl simply for being who she was. A frighteningly painful yet impossible to avoid parallel between her life and the blue girl…

“You’re what you are, son.” The man shook his head, his demeanor measured and calm despite the chaos. He turned to the three men who strapped his child down as he produced a clipper and proceeded to shear away the auburn locks. As painful as the “therapy” had been up to that point, in that moment the child’s affect fell almost into irreparable despair.

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“I… I’m sorry...” Misty lowered her face a bit. Alice shook her head in disagreement as she leaned closer.

“You know that any time we talk you’ll feel things that carry you away, right? No need to apologize. “

“Yes.” Her tone was flat but was belied by the tears that seemed to have no end.

“May I ask you something new?”

“Shh…sure,” Misty hesitated. Questions often led to answers that led to feelings; some new, but often some like old, intrusive acquaintances. She shuddered but nodded.

“You have the freedom to wear your hair any way you choose, but you wear it so short; almost like when your father and the people from the church cut it.” Misty looked up and half frowned, but realized the explanation was as much for her as it was for Alice. She bit her lip and tears returned.

“I…I wanted to do it for me.” She looked away once again, as if being herself was once again too shameful to imagine. Alice’s gentle smile coaxed her into that place of safety their times had become.

“When he was angry, he yelled at me...softly…never loud except for his expression.”

“Yes.” Alice nodded.

“He wanted me to be like Alexia, but he hated when I told him I’d love to be just like her. And when…”

“What was it like when she got sick?”

“She kidded me. It wasn’t cruel…” Tears spilled off her chin, but she continued.

“So in the end, she’d take my hand and touch it to her buzz-cut and then to my own head.”

“’See,‘ she’d say, ‘We are sisters.’”

“Another time to…what did you say last time?” Alice smiled.

“To be pulled apart. He took everything away from me and then she was taken.”

Misty clutched her head as she shook. The tears squeezed through shut-tight eyes and the sobs escaped without words. Alice scooted closer and began tapping the girl’s knees alternately. The gentle persuasion that helped her mind in stuck moments like these. A few seconds later Misty sighed deeply. Alice tilted her head; searching for something gentle in the midst of the girl’s pain.

“After all that time you finally got to be exactly who you knew yourself to be at least with the only person who knew Misty.” Alice paused, leaving the girl ready to fill in the blank. Misty winced.

“I’m so sorry she was taken. It feels like… What did you say a couple of months back?” Alice would have remembered even if it wasn’t written down in her note folder on the end table to her left.

“Be… betrayal.” Misty abruptly hit her left thing with a closed fist, as if it was her fault. But as quickly as she had gotten angry at herself, something inside her swiftly relented as she muttered ‘Not my fault.’ She touched her scalp again.

“You keep your hair that way to…” Alice paused. There was more than just the one reason, which in and of itself was healing. But In the midst of all the doubt and shame the girl felt, her one ever-present reminder of her sister was serving to finally retrieve the girl’s once irretrievable sense of being and self worth.

“I wanted to honor her bravery.” Misty pursed her lips and looked away, as if by identifying anything else would take away from her gesture toward her late twin.

Alice waved slightly as if to say, ‘continue.’ She wanted to jump out of her chair like a cheerleader or a kid with the right answer in history class, but this was Misty’s moment of self discovery, leaving her to just smile in encouragement.

“I want to…I need to remember how…” Misty hesitated, but Alice kept silent.

“I was … I am brave. I’m… who I am…” She bit her lip. After years of abuse in the name of God it had taken her time and understanding to gain a measure of her own faith.

“B… by the grace of God.” While Alice was cautious not to self-reveal. Although in this instance she agreed wholeheartedly, she merely replied with yet another slight nod and another soft ‘yes.’

“I’m so proud of you.” Alice said. Misty grabbed a tissue from the box on the table beside her and wiped her eyes. A smile crossed Alice’s face, followed by a half –grin that shouted, ‘And?’ Misty returned the grin with one of her own and said at last,

“Me, too.”

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Misty's trauma in addition to rejection and other social struggles as a transgender girl also includes conversion therapy

"Conversion therapy, sometimes referred to as “reparative therapy,” is any of several dangerous and discredited practices aimed at changing an individual’s sexual orientation or gender identity. Conversion therapists use a variety of shaming, emotionally traumatic or physically painful stimuli to make their victims associate those stimuli with their LGBTQ identities.

According to studies by the UCLA Williams Institute, more than 700,000 LGBTQ people have been subjected to the horrors of conversion therapy, and an estimated 80,000 LGBTQ youth will experience this unprofessional conduct in coming years, often at the insistence of well-intentioned but misinformed parents or caretakers."

https://www.thetrevorproject.org/get-involved/trevor-advocac...

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Misty's recovery includes treatment by a licensed therapist knowledgeable in gender issues and traumatology. Treatment includes traditional psychotherapy but also includes EMDR https://www.emdr.com/what-is-emdr/

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Dialogue excerpt from Guardians of the Galaxy 2, Marvel Studios 2017
Avengers: Endgame Theme Interpretation from Gaius Music
Theme composed by Alan Silvestri

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