A woman wakes up alone in a white and closed room, another walks in the moor bordering a cliff, trying to avoid the man who comes towards her, another finally is placed in quarantine, suffering from a strange syphilis. In her first novel, Safe, Lucie Taïeb portrays one or more women, depending on the reading that one chooses to do, grappling with an abstract fear. Oscillating between dream and reality, this fear disguises itself in various ways, the fear of the other, of the outside, of the void, it weighs down with all its weight and paralyzes us, it has no name, only masks. Are these fears the distant echo of an ancestral fear, which seems to be pegged to the body, or are they on the contrary the fruit of an organization of protection by society?