( Augh, it's so short. Probably the shortest thing I've ever written. It looked a bit more meaty in Word. In any case, I hope you enjoy the simplicity of it. )
I almost didn't recognize her. She seemed a hollow shell, a parody of what I remembered her to be. Her hair, once pulled into a thick, lengthy tail was now chopped, uneven and unruly, as though a child had taken scissors to it. Her build, once strong, seemed frailer. Her eyes were no longer the warm, deep blue that I had remembered. They seemed detached and distant from the world, as though she were tethered to this realm only by a thin strand. I could feel a sliver of disappointment, of despair sink into me. Where once had been a fond admiration, doubt grew, even bitterness. How could I have looked up to this miserable shadow of a woman? How far she had fallen, how far I could have fallen with her, had things gone the way I wanted. Had she been my teacher, how twisted would I have become? Would I have longed for battle as much as history said she did?
My doubts, as fleeting as they were, grew so strong in such a brief period, that I had a difficult time hiding my shame when they were dismissed. As soon as she opened her mouth and spoke, those doubts vanished. How could I have felt such disappointment? It made it difficult to speak to her. As many years as it had been, my empathy, my admiration for her held just as strong as it did before, if not stronger. I, far too easily swayed, remembered all the things in her that inspired me. Her passion was not gone, only hidden behind those eyes, eyes that mirrored a sense of self-loathing. Many mistake reservation for ineptitude, but I have always been observant in my silence, thinking before acting. It did not take long for me to see that she were more than she had been, not less.
It seemed she was the most herself when in meditation. Being given the privilege to join her in meditation, to re-teach her the proper way to silence one's thoughts and feel the calmness surrounding you, was an experience I would not give away for anything.
I remember the apprehension I felt when she offered to open my eyes to the Force once again. No, it was stronger than apprehension. It was fear. Fear of being disappointed once more, of being left without a teacher. Fear of having what I desired most in the world held out just beyond my reach, pulled away just before my fingers can close around it. It was a fear that my strong voice of reason would not allow me to hold off forever. I knew I would have to face it.
I would not have faced it with anyone but her.
With this fear out of the way and learning from the woman who had been destined to be my teacher, I believed myself ready to face whatever lay ahead of us. But a new complication arose that had nothing to do with fear, or disappointment. When Atton approached me, I was cautious. I did not know what to expect from him. Over the course of our journeys, I was ever dubious about his behavior, his attitude. It made me wonder at how he could so casually converse with her. How he was able to laugh and joke. While it is not in my nature to be overly comical, I did enjoy the rare moments that I was able to draw a smile from her face.
I tried to explain that my affection for her was different than that which he desired from her. It was the relationship between a teacher and a pupil, nothing more. My placation seemed to satisfy him momentarily, but there was a twinge of something within me that I had not yet identified. I knew my words were true, I did not lie to Atton. Yet I felt a strange sense of surrender. It was akin to the disappointment I felt when I was denied the Jedi teachings, but it was also different, in such a profound way.
For a while I believed I lost you, but I didn't know how, or why. It occurred to me some time afterward that I could not lose what I never had. Yours was a sisterly affection, if anything. In the midst of all the chaos that raged around you, I knew I could never bring myself to ask you for more than what you were willing to give. I would not be the one to put strain on you, to add to your burden. Instead, I resolved to help relieve you of it, to ensure your safety and peace.
Perhaps, with time, I would learn to find peace with this as well.