You folks need a hand? Ship's toast, but if you can give us a lift to the nearest port we'll make it worth your while. We're camped just inside the doors. The transport makes contact with the deck, jostling its solo passenger slightly and Rey drops out of her shuttle, looking around the empty hangar lit with weak red emergency lights, testing the air, the environment for anything untoward. Her skin prickles, but it doesn't feel wrong, just creepy, which if her experience as a scavenger is anything to go by, is more or less normal.
Still, she grips the hilt of Luke's, of her, she corrects herself, lightsaber and partially conceals it in her sleeve. Even if it's a legitimate cry for help, the survivors could be irrational, and they outnumber her. Caution is required, even if everyone has the best intentions at heart it never pays to be stupid. The blast door opens at her touch and Rey slips through it, flinching just a little as it bangs shut behind her.
Slow, careful, she advances through the dimly lit corridor, trying to ignore the little voice in the back of her mind that thinks this rescue ill-advised. There are people on board, people who need help. She can feel them. Panels concealed in the walls shoot open and blinding white light floods the hall. It gleams off pristine white armor and reflects from the chromo fittings of a terrible, familiar mask. The lightsaber ignites in her hands before her eyes adjust to the sudden luminosity.
The smug satisfaction she feels coming off Kylo Ren makes her want to puke. Rey swallows tightly and adjusts her grip, holding the glowing beacon of energy higher. Kylo nods, arms crossed over his chest, still unarmed, unconcerned. Does she want to be taken alive to wherever Kylo Ren has in mind? Rey isn't so sure on that one, but she's pretty sure that she doesn't want to die, not here, not like this, and she certainly doesn't want to deal with Kylo Ren in anything less than her best possible state, which precludes letting them maim her.
Please don't be foolish about this. Kylo Ren's sincerity disgusts her, after all he's done he has the gall to feel concern over this? The lightsaber flicks off and she extends the warm piece of metal that's as much a part of her soul as anything else to the two trooper's approaching warily. The ones that drew the short straws, she guesses. One snatches the weapon from her grip, the other snaps heavy metal cuffs around her wrists, binding them together in front of her chest. Through the connection resurging through her head, she feels Kylo Ren's brief flair of surprise, then amusement. A trap, her mind supplies the translation as Rey resists the gloved hands dragging her forward.
She hates being man-handled and jerks out of their grasp, holding herself upright and taking slow dignified steps under her own power, glaring at the flowing material covering Kylo Ren's back. If it was possible to hate someone to death, she thinks she could just about manage it with the awful piece of shit leading her back through the twisting corridors. The group escorting her, such as the word applies, emerges in a hangar much like the one she had parked her shuttle and a hard hand nudges her sharply as her feet grind to a drag as the ramp comes closer.
It would be nice to remain dignified, but the looming black ship with high angular wings makes the inevitability all too real. The blow echoes in her ears before she feels it, something hard connecting midway down her back, a pain that sends her staggering against a trooper walking close in front of her, and if her hands weren't pinioned from wrist to elbow she might have had a chance to grapple with him for a blaster. Instead he catches her elbow, rights her and steps quickly away as Kylo Ren freezes at the top of the ramp and turns. Emotions, flickering, frightening in their complexity wash around her awareness of the man and he looks at her, past her.
His hand flashes, a gesture laden with violence, and something makes a faint breeze and a heavy clatter, a muffled groan. Footsteps, a new soldier moving up to fill the gap immediately behind her and Kylo Ren turns back to his ship, moving out of sight. The pressure on her shoulders is professional, enough to bring motion to her frozen legs and nothing more. The inside of the craft is clean, neat, and shiny with newness; polar opposites of the previous vessels she's ridden in. The seats are cushioned and the luxury of that strikes her as absurd.
The Stormtroopers move around her, taking up stations by the door sliding shut or the cockpit for takeoff. Kylo Ren sits on a bench and Rey copies him, bracing her elbows on her knees in the only way to sit that doesn't make her arms feel awkward, cuffed as they are.
Troopers settle themselves on the long benches, giving the mismatched pair a healthy amount of space and the engines purr to life, bench vibrating subtly beneath her as the landscape blurs and they are space-borne. It takes only seconds for the enormous freighter to disappear from sight. The pressure in her head shifts, a sudden resurgence and Rey glares death at the unchanging mask across from her. The pressure recedes abruptly and the void in her head stretches, suddenly achingly empty before her thoughts trickle back into the vacuum.
It's extremely unsettling, equally unpleasant as being grabbed and escorted to parts unknown by the First Order. Kylo Ren persists in being an enigmatic pain in her ass as they leap into hyperspace until Rey is rendered speechless with frustration. When the ship lurches as they leave drop below light speed, her attention is captured by the enormous planet consuming the entire view out of the portal.
As they draw closer, break into the atmosphere, details of landscape emerge. Towering jagged mountains, black and rust-red, crumbled cities, fire scorched ships. He stands and in an almost gentlemanly gesture helps Rey to her feet. She twists away from his touch, rage sparking and holds her head high as she descends into a black world. The air is sulfurous, vile and choking, it burns and it blinds the delicate membranes around her eyes.
The masked uniforms suddenly make a lot more sense and she can't brush the gloved hands off as they guide her down the runway. Rey catches a brief glimpse of enormous steel towers before she's ushered through a thick, pitted steel door. The air is sweet inside and she gasps like a fish, briefly overwhelmed by a fit of choking before straightening. The Stormtroopers have dispersed, save for the guards by the heavy door separating the complex from the hell outside, it is just her and the Knight of Ren. Considering her list of rather short options, Rey elects to follow.
The chamber he leads her to is grimly ascetic, grey duracrete walls and wire brushed steel fixtures: He nods at the later, "You should clean up. There's a change of clothes on the bed. With a disgusted roll of her eyes Rey holds her cuffed hands before the masked man in black. The metal bindings fall away with a rasp and Rey springs at her captor.
He hasn't drawn a weapon on her yet, has gone to lengths to keep her safe and relatively unharmed. The lightsaber is a useful tool, but she can fight with just about anything, fists and feet included. The Force answers her sluggishly, power that should be hers lurking in the distance. Kylo Ren's hand comes up, freezing her flight towards him, toes just brushing the floor. Amusement tinges her awareness of him, makes Rey burn with ire.
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An unmapped planet where she can barely see on the surface, much less find a craft and navigate home. The Supreme Leader will be expecting you shortly. The room tilts on a dizzying axis and Rey feels a roaring in her ears. Kylo is a little surprised that she comes quietly, that this half feral girl manages to conduct herself with quiet dignity up until they are alone in his room. Effectively imprisoned on a planet that is the antithesis of everything she stands for, Rey maintains some level control of herself as the light side of the Force becomes only a whisper at the edge of awareness.
Clearly she is ignorant of what is happening, why she has to exert herself that much harder to reach out, to shield herself against the darkness. If she knew, she wouldn't be trying to fight him at the first opportunity they are alone. Stopping the attack is the simplest thing since he received his lord's enlightenment. Kylo feels everything through her, the moment she commits to the violence, and the Force bends to his will, stopping her cold. Certainly, he doesn't need to touch her to impose his will on her body, but really, it's the first time they've touched since the encounter on Takadona, and he's spent so much time thinking of her, her skin, that it seems ridiculous to waste the opportunity just because it's unnecessary.
Her hand is ridiculously small in his, at odds with the titan's wrath and violence she carries in her delicate frame. It stings, just a little, when Rey absorbs the grim reality of her situation and takes the cloth from him, scrubbing her soot-streaked face clean. Another little bit of light dead. He should be glad of it, he is glad of it, he reminds himself. This is the Supreme Leader's wish. Compassion is weakness, and he will be strong.
The kindness is an illusion to wind the girl more tightly in this trap, nothing more. The girl rejects the change of clothing and he escorts her out of the dwelling, down into the ancient temple beneath the First Order's base, white tile giving way to rough carved basalt. She swallows tightly, eyes roving over the twisting stone carvings, flinching from the dark brushes at her mind.
Kylo Ren does not need to harden his heart against her innocence. What is this girl to him, really? A tool, a source of power. The Supreme Leader thinks she can be used to make him better, stronger. That is what matters, not the way she holds herself ramrod straight in the long descent, the way she refuses to be cowed, the way she cherishes the tiny spark of brightness inside her even as fear and hate from the very stone wear at her walls. The door to his master's room is open, waiting and only there does she hesitate, perhaps sensing the magnitude of evil that awaits her arrival.
Kylo places a hand on her back then, she looks strong, indomitable, but she's shaking like a leaf and it takes next to no effort to nudge her through the archway, escort her through the huge cavern of black stone to the gleaming obsidian chair and his lord. Supreme Leader Snoke is not distracted this time, as much as the alien visage does, he looks eager, ignoring his apprentice to study the girl Kylo propels before him.
The girl struggles against him now as he approaches that column of light, soft boots scrambling against the smooth stone floor. It means nothing, he tells himself, and thinks of the room with the black pool. The moment of shared ecstasy floats to his mind's eye and he focuses on shoving Rey, the girl, down on the stone and takes a knee beside her. Lord Snoke makes a soft, amused sound through his nose.
Well done, Kylo Ren. His master spares a quick glance his way and then stands, looming to his full height and, with the soft rasp of cloth on stone, steps down the dais to stand within arm's reach of the Jedi apprentice. Elegantly, the Sith Lord arranges himself in a sitting position in front of the girl and extends his hand toward disheveled brown hair.
The girl's head tilts back at a crazy angle, tendons standing out sharply as she gasps for breath, looking up into the face of his Master. Kylo feels the violation, the searing pain of his master bullying his way through Rey's thoughts and remembrances. It's somehow not as bad and far, far worse to be the observer in this activity instead of the recipient. It's not his pain, but she feels everything so differently, so much more intensely. He's been a Sith's apprentice for most of his life, pain is just a part of the process and privacy is not even an illusion when his master can move thoughts in or out of his head on a whim.
Rey doesn't scream, but he's not sure if she can in this moment. If nothing else, he can feel the casual dismemberment of her dignity, the sullying of her private remembrances, good and bad. Her life is laid bare before Snoke. A flash of devastating loneliness. The exhilaration of her first flight. The terrible pain of removing a piece of shrapnel from her hand and sewing the wound shut.
Rage against his first clumsy mental intrusion. The spite when she sees through him for the very first time. Training under Luke Skywalker on a green island. The calm strength of the Force. Lying under the stars, listening to the sea. A shudder of pleasure. She's the one on her knees before his lord having her mind teased apart and all Kylo can think is that he's the one who wants to be sick. Whatever that says about him, it can't be good. The lord smooths the front of his robe and regards the pair of humans coolly.
I sense you have a great many questions. Kylo obeys the implied command, shuffling forward and helping Rey to her feet. It's probably the single most awkward thing he's done; he doesn't know where to put his hands, and his master is watching and somehow that makes it all worse.
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Is he expected to be rough, unkind in contrast or continue the unbalancing act of gentility? Cupping his hands under sharp elbows he lifts and Rey scrambles to her feet, attention locked on the towering creature before her, digging her fingers into his arm until she finds her balance and takes a discrete step away from him. He winces and waits for his lord's wrath to fall in a hammer stroke. Instead his master chuckles, a harsh, ill-used sound.
I am Lord Snoke, the master of the First Order. Rey swallows, Kylo is transfixed by the way the muscles in her throat twitch at the simple motion and with only a moment of hesitation she asks, "Why did you bring me here? My dear boy over there told me so much about you, the little scavenger from Jakku. Somehow the little scavenger turned kidnapping victim has the wherewithal to turn up her nose and glare at the monstrous creature of darkness. Master Snoke looks absolutely delighted. What would the point be, otherwise? Rey drops her eyes from Lord Snoke's face, turning her head so her face falls in shadow under the luminescing halo high above.
Kylo grits his teeth and takes a step towards the girl when she remains obstinately in place before the dais. She has no idea what she's dealing with; a little girl with a laser sword trying to challenge the great Sith, Lord Snoke. Keeping his distance, he grabs her hand and tugs sharply. This, apparently, is the wrong thing to do as white hot fire erupts in his arms. Breaking contact with her does nothing to alleviate the sensation.
It's impossible to tell who is dragging whom, but the door slams on their heels and the hall is silent except for heavy breathing and a slow hiss of pained breath escaping between clenched teeth. It takes Kylo a moment to identify the sound as his and he drags a heavy leather glove off with his teeth. The white skin protected by black leather is unmarked, no visible damage and the lancing pain begins to recede. Rey, bent double against the rough carved wall, looks up at him with wide eyes.
Rey shudders, brushing her palms together like she expects them to disintegrate on contact. He keeps his hands to himself and retraces their steps from what feels like a lifetime ago. He secures the door to the grey room with the Force once they're both inside. There are no locks on the doors.
Here even relative privacy is a privilege to be earned through strength of power. As incentives to learn go, Kylo finds that a relatively harmless one. There is time, he thinks, to rest now. Today was only the beginning. He strips his gloves off, sets them in their place on a narrow steel shelf. The mask goes beside them and perspiration on his face cools when it comes in contact with the air. He glances over his shoulder, finds the girl standing in the center of the bare room. Rey meets his eyes with a proud tilt of her chin. Kylo fumbles the belt off, folds it twice and places it on top of the gloves, eases the heavy black robe off his arms and tosses it over the end of the bedstead.
You forged this connection, without training or finesse, without being able to imagine the possible consequences! The thin body tenses as Kylo brushes past it, brief moment of contact flaring something warm in his stomach, and he sits on the edge of the thin mattress, running a hand through his hair. Sometimes he thinks whoever picks the furnishings for the First Order does it to spite him. The blanket is thin and scratchy, he flicks it over his lower half and props his head on his arm to look at her.
The conjunction of these two things, bed and Rey, is doing peculiar things to his mind. He pushes slippery thoughts away to focus on the discussion at hand.
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Do you really think you can keep them sealed with the Force while you sleep? He fails, as he always does, and curls onto his side, his back to her. He likes it far more than he should. It's almost as warming as the shared body heat would be. Shaking his head to banish the thought, Kylo closes his eyes and sleeps. It's something of a mystery how she manages to drop into sleep so quickly after the sort of day she's had. The sound of Kylo Ren's harsh breathing evens out and then dark water is closing over her head, warm and safe and comforting.
They sit on a rock overlooking the islet's bay, sky wide and dark and endless; a warm body propped against her shoulder. Silence and a peace so deep it's a physical ache; a sense of divinity that brings a tear to her eye. Pressure on her shoulder guides her to a solid wall of rough spun cotton, embracing and surrounding her, the press of lips against her hair. She resists, the comfort, the care, it's not quite real; not a replacement for what's been lost.
The wall of strength and warmth holding her up wavers, becomes insubstantial and she falls through it with a silent cry that echoes in her head. A blinding light and she hits sand, shielding her eyes and scrambling to her feet. It burns bare toes, shifts treacherously. Turning, an AT-AT looms over her, not sand-scoured and half-rotted, but very much functional. The ground shudders and shakes, she has to scramble to avoid being ground into the sand under its incalculable weight.
The transport fades to a blot on the horizon quickly, far too quickly, before she can properly debate the merits of trying to board the thing, see where it goes. Then it disappears and Rey is overcome with a sense of loss. Something's not here that ought to be, something, someone unfathomably precious just Heart hammering in her mouth, she tries, will and body straining to feel through the Force where her lost person might be.
The Force is gone. She is alone, and seized by panic, begins to dig in the sand at her feet. The odds are beyond impossible, the gesture futile, helpless, but she won't, or possibly can't stop, even as the harsh grit wears away the skin on her fingers, gums the bloody abrasions, trickles endlessly back into the hole as she scrapes and suffers under the crimson sun. The moment stretches into infinity and then a shadow falls over her, a tall masked figure blotting out the sky. Rey wakes with a crick in her neck and a tailbone sore from being pressed into a hard metal floor. It takes a moment for the dreamscape to fade, to place the smooth grey walls as her new prison instead of the old AT-AT where she had slept back on Jakku.
Perhaps she should be surprised that she woke up at all, but apparently there's something to what Kylo Ren said about keeping the door sealed. Muscles protest as she picks her head up from her arms and black cloth pools around her waist as she shifts. Heavy soft wool, it carries a faint, complex smell that she can't place right away.
The air is cold where it hits her exposed skin and Rey clambers to her feet, shaking the covering out until it takes the apparent form of a long hooded robe. She glares at the material, weighing the emotional desire to discard it on principle versus the more practical desire not to be cold. Practicality wins, it always does, so she lets the fabric hang over her shoulders and stands. The hem drags on the ground behind her, the sound is soft but still incredibly distracting. The water in the washbasin is bitter cold and has a strong chemical taste when she washes the feeling of sleep from her mouth.
Feeling slightly more human, she casts around for the other occupant of the room and finds him sitting quietly in a corner on the floor, long limbs folded in the familiar lotus position Master Luke was, is so fond of when meditating. Cautious, Rey curls up a safe distance away, or as safe as anything is right now, and regards her captor sharply.
She had been distraught last night, though she thinks that's excusable, and hadn't really taken him in. Kylo Ren looks older, more haggard, less kemp, the scar from their first battle a faint stripe of off-colored skin slashed against his face. She scowls at him, a habit in the making for every time he opens his stupid mouth and doesn't deign to respond. If Kylo Ren has a problem with being stared at, he can damn well put her on a ship back home.
A faint curl of smirk appears on his wide mouth, "Who said anything about a problem? It's flattering, if anything. It teases her, just on the edge of reach, and she can feel sweat break out on her forehead as she struggles to achieve that position of balance. The disdain and amusement she feels from the other mind in the room is a distraction which keeps her chained to the physical plane. It's the scent on the blanket, she decides, it's irritating, tickling her nose, distracting. Her skin prickles as she shoves the material off and scoots away, using the toe of her boot to nudge it closer to its owner.
Better to be discomforted and free, as much as the word applies, than have some implied debt hanging over her head. Dark eyes glint as Kylo Ren smooths the material over his knees. It's your choice, I suppose. She reciprocates his sneer with one of her own and lets her head thud back against the solid wall. Anger flutters in her chest like a caged bird, knocking against her ribs in pursuit of flight. Rey shies away from the image and tries not to let her discomfort manifest as a blush.
Rey is pretty sure she's projecting the rueful tone on his words and bats the thought away to some distant part of her mind where it won't distract her, won't build to false hopes. Kylo Ren is an obedient slave, she's not doing a bit of good by pretending otherwise. The amused disinterest is back; Kylo Ren stands in a smooth motion and slips the robe over his shoulders, smooths it over his hips. Your dreams are distracting. Rey doesn't have half his elegance as she scrambles to her feet after him, a rare flash of self-consciousness that she does her upmost to ignore.
What gives you the right? Kylo Ren is quiet as he draws his boots back on, dons his belt and stares at the black slit of his mask. The loathing in his voice draws Rey up short, it washes through her veins like the ocean's tides and for a dizzying moment she isn't sure who she is, who she hates, whether it's Kylo Ren or Snoke, herself or Master Luke.
Pain tingles up and down her arm from the impact as he shakes his fist out. Something shift slightly in her awareness of him as he retrieves his mask from where it fell and seals it over his face, for an instant it seems as though the timbre of his voice behind the scrambler changes subtly.
Breakfast is being served in the refectory.
Rey rubs her thumb over the knuckles of her hand and trots to keep up, mulling over this new bit of insight. It's just enough of a cue that he's not merely being an asshole, so Rey shuts her mouth and tries to put her curiosity to a better use than needling the knight of Ren.
The complex is truly enormous, she decides, after what feels like miles of trotting after his sweeping black robe and there's no indication that they're getting closer to Kylo Ren's destination. It's faulty logic, she recognizes it, but it feels like that. The Force around him twists, and Kylo Ren stops short, reaching back and halting her with a black-gloved hand against her sternum. Rey thinks she feels a brief pang at the sudden contact, but maybe that's just her stomach talking. She's gotten too used to regular meals.
She knocks his hand away and steels herself. Kylo Ren grabs her again, strong fingers boring into her shoulders as he towers over her. Then, just as abruptly, he's gone, striding away so as to make his robe billow behind him. Annoyance flutters up, chasing the moment away. She wonders instead if he's practiced that walk in front of a mirror, and jogs to catch up. The obsidian door is shut when they arrive and Kylo Ren seems absolutely fine with that.
Rey runs fingers through her slightly matted hair and tries to stretch her cramping calves. It's not a question of being in bad shape, she tells herself, it's that everything here is different, the mismatching height of the steps, the ramps that seem to lead up and down for no purpose what so ever; all seems engineered to be intentionally unpleasant. Then a rasp and the door opens with a faint breeze that makes her skin crawl, the fine hairs on her neck stand on end.
Kylo Ren straightens from where he leans against the carved stone wall.
The smartass response dies on her tongue; Rey can feel something singularly awful emanating from the entrance. Kylo Ren is just behind her shoulder, and this time he doesn't propel her through the high arch of stone, simply stands close enough that she can feel the heat from his body through her thin tunic, that same odd spicy smell that clung to his robe this morning. He's at the edge of her internal awareness, though the Force and the bond they share and damn him, he's trying to be comforting.
Maybe he feels the pressure, instinct screaming to stay away, too. Maybe he understands, or understood, once, and remembers. She thinks that's damned unlikely and gives up the thoughts, burying them under a glacier of stubborn pride. Rey steps into the cavern with her head held high, attention fixed on the alien figure sitting silently on the raised platform. Snoke meets her eyes, and maybe she ought to, but she won't look away, won't bow before this fear that runs to ice in her veins. She is stronger than that, she thinks, she will persevere. The darkness he floods her mind with, the memory of twenty billion lives extinguished in five fingers of glistening red fire and the cool indifference that accompanies it sends her reeling, hands and knees scraping the stone as she stumbles.
I am not having a particularly pleasant day. Rey is scrap metal caught between the revolting hesitation that is Kylo Ren and the despicable creature sitting on the throne before her. Scrambling to her feet, she smears blood on her trousers where she wipes her hands. Jelly legs shake as she approaches the white light before the throne, a fight that she loses against a physical manifestation of Snoke's power. Her knees fold and pressure bows her forward until all she can see is the shadow of her body on the stone beneath her. Kylo Ren takes a knee beside her without any such melodrama and Rey breathes deeply.
Everything can be fought, it's just a question of learning how. She can learn that; she's good at fighting. She will obey the hygienic standards set for all members of the First Order while in my presence. Bring her here clean, next time, or do not bring her at all.
The insult holds no water with Rey; what does she care for this monster's discomfort with her presence? It's a familiar control mechanism, an appeal to her lackluster vanity, a lever twisting towards compliance. Certainly, the overseers have tried it on her before, trying to taunt her into selling things that weren't to be sold for a little extra water ration, a little bit of scented soap.
She knows how to refuse men like that; Snoke is no different. The pressure on the back of her neck abates and as much as she hates her response, Rey lifts her head as it yields so she can, if she strains her neck, look up at the sundered face of her antagonist.
Her hands remain pinioned to the ground, despite all her exertions to move them. If Snoke cares a bit for her helpless rage, he gives no outward indication. And neither of you, little apprentices, understand the magnitude of your actions and use it for the basest exchange of physical desires. It does not sound the least bit complementary. Rey scowls up at the soliloquizing figure. Maybe your defenses aren't as good; maybe you're not as strong as you think you are.
Snoke sighs and a poisonous sort of joy floods her mind. It almost doesn't matter when she's flung face first back to the stone. Blood coats her teeth and she can't think but for the savage superiority grinding against her will, a scrub brush scouring at her gritty disobedience. Only when she's exhausted herself, perspiration trickling into her eyes, does he turn to the motionless black figure beside her. Kylo Ren is quiet for a moment, considering. You feel change, yes, but desire not to ascribe causality to it? A mere change of circumstance, perhaps? Time will tell with that one, my Padawan, but we will continue to monitor it.
There is no rush. Open the bond you two share, Kylo Ren. Reach out to the girl, feel her, the Force in her body, the strength in her will. Snoke's voice rises and falls, a hypnotic melody and she feels the connection between them bloom, can feel Kylo Ren obey as he whispers against her mind, flows through her veins, twines through her awareness; diffusing, spreading. Please, it is more than I can endure. Is it the same thing, you feel? The glove seems to echo in Rey's head as it drops beside her on the stone and she swallows tightly, unable to shy an inch as the masked figure stretches towards her, pale fingers brushing over her wrist.
Through the contact, his pulse beats against her skin. I, I think, I can bear this. Snoke frowns, "Remove your hand and correct your uniform, Kylo Ren. You will atone for your arrogance in the training yards this afternoon. Bring the girl to me, before you go.
Her body responds clumsily and Rey stands, wiping a red smear from her mouth. Don't forget to wash behind your ears. Master Snoke is going to kill her, or maybe him, or maybe both of them, Kylo thinks as he herds the little hellion out of his master's chamber. The scent of her blood permeates the air around him, bypassing the filter on his mask completely. It evokes a complicated reaction; blood spilled brings wisdom through discipline, victory through pain, and triumph through suffering. He clenches his hands where the phantoms itch and speeds his step, letting the physical burn of exertion overwrite everything else.
Ragged breathing behind him snaps Kylo back to his senses and he stops, turns, waits for the livid girl to catch up. He doesn't apologize, he won't, and he's not the one who challenged his master in the first place. That's all this is. Kiki added it Nov 30, Tj added it Dec 12, Kelly added it Jan 01, Shanna added it Jan 09, SAL marked it as to-read Feb 09, Elizabeth marked it as to-read Feb 23, Maya marked it as to-read Mar 16, Noughty added it Apr 16, Davina added it Jul 08, Debbie marked it as to-read Jul 25, Kevin added it Sep 16, Joe marked it as to-read Nov 21, JustJen "Miss Conduct" marked it as to-read Nov 16, L-D added it Nov 19, Ashlee added it May 07, Boots marked it as to-read Feb 11, Andrea marked it as to-read Apr 06, Donna added it Aug 17, Sophie marked it as to-read Nov 10, Dana added it Dec 24, Crystal marked it as to-read Feb 17, Elisa Rolle marked it as to-read Aug 11, Botmtl marked it as to-read Mar 15, Julie Duong marked it as to-read Nov 02, There are no discussion topics on this book yet.
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