The reason that prevented the Elephant Woman from seeing, recognizing herself, and finding her own voice was the loss of her head and, therefore, of her senses. That face, hidden by the pillow, now responds to a series of close-ups drawn from Dreyer’s Joan of Arc. Her torment gradually transforms into a succession of moving gestures. In the face of the weight of knowledge, one can oppose it with another truth, even if it exists only outside the margins of the visible, like a timid spark. Her truth is her word, a minimal expression that gives meaning to her existence—an exaggeratedly disproportionate element against the grand discourse, turned into heavy artillery, of her opponents. Despite fear, she does not give up; she cannot pretend, she cannot remain silent, she does not let herself be swayed by rhetoric, nor even by brute reason. That is her struggle: her existence is her condemnation. Defending her truth will give her life, even if it means dying at the stake. The defenseless yet insubmissive woman, protagonist of this plot and many others, confronts all while fully aware of her fatal destiny, and through her life demands the obligation to think.