Inspired by the art of Meldy-Arts and by the Season One finale of Game of Thrones.
For the first time in her life, Mira's world was unfeeling, cold.
Numb.
In the back of her mind, she knew that she should be stronger. She had to be stronger. She was Mira Wren-Bridger, the proud daughter of Mandalore, the scion of a line of Jedi unbroken since time immemorial, the Sword of the Morning, for bloody crying out loud. But in the end, that mattered little.
Her parents, her solid foundation on which she had built herself, her guardians that picked her up when she was down and pointed her in the right path when she messed up…
…were dead.
Gone.
Killed by a man whom she had once called a friend and a brother; slain by the hands of Ben Solo, who now went by the alias Kylo Ren.
At first she was too numb to say anything, to do anything, when Hera and Kanan first broke the news to her, their own tears barely having dried. Then, she felt fury- hatred really. She didn't believe them, at first. Oh no, she had tried to deny everything that they said.
That was until she saw the bodies of her mother and father, their faces looking peaceful, even as they forever clasped their respective swords on their chest.
She wanted to curse everything and everyone. Hera and Kanan for leaving her parents to their fate, the Republic for sending them on such a suicidal mission, her parents for agreeing to it, herself for not begging them to stay. But most of all, she cursed Ben for betraying their trust.
And so, after a few, long, and antagonizing moments, she headed out into the forest outside the base, and started hacking at the nearest tree with her lightsaber, the blade set on it's lowest setting.
She couldn't stop.
She wouldn't stop.
Every strike she dealt was a swing to Ben's traitorous neck. Every blow she inflicted was a thrust to his murderous heart. Every hit she scored was cleaving off parts of his craven body.
"Mira?"
She heard a distant voice calling to her, faded and worried. She didn't care, she didn't want anyone to be near her right now. All she wanted was her fury, her vengeance.
All she wanted was Ben to feel the pain she had suffered.
"Mira!" She heard the voice call out more clearly this time. She stopped hitting the tree with the sword, and slowly turned her head to where the voice was coming from.
It was Hera who was calling out to her, her face full of sympathy, love, and concern.
"You'll ruin your sword." The older Twi'lek pointed out dejectedly. Mira traced her eyes downward to her blade, still humming with yellow light, and with the last of her strength broken, threw it down, deactivating it along the way. She walked- no, staggered, into her grandmother's loving embrace.
And the dam broke.
She openly wept into Hera's shoulders, as her grandmother tried to calm her, making cooing, shushing noises in an effort to pacify her.
"I'll kill them all." Mira promised between sobs, her anger towards the First Order and the Knights of Ren renewed. "Every one of them. I'll kill them all!"
"My girl." Hera comforted her, stroking the back of her hair. "We don't have the strength mustered yet to take them on. We need to come up with a plan first." She turned Mira's head to face her, and the daughter of Mand'alor saw the fire of vengeance in Hera's eyes- a grim determination that matched her own. "And then, we will kill them all."