I am not Yelsa. No matter what Anar says, no matter how I seem on the outside, on the inside I am and always will be Cione.

Tatooine. Never was there such a cursed place such as that desert sphere. It is worthless. The Empire, (may it burn the one place hotter than Tatooine) could blow it up like they did Alderaan and no one in the galaxy would give it a thought. Many I'm sure would be thrilled that such a large portion of the galaxy's scum could be gotten rid of so easily. This is where I am forced to live.

There is little I remember of the time before I became a slave. I know there is a place that is green, where colored birds sit in tall, lush trees and sing songs to the day. It is cool, shaded by the many trees and moisture hangs heavy in the air. I remember as a small child running barefoot through this place, the ground feeling cool and moist beneath my feet. Perhaps I don't really remember it at all, it could simply be my mind imagining what paradise would be like. But if it's made up than how would I know green? Tatooine certainly doesn't have any.

The rest that I know of my life before was told to me by Anar's wife, Sanor. She is far better than Anar or his son, the cursed Nad, but I don't think she really cares what happens to me. Since I'm around she takes care of me and is decent, even kind. But I know that should anything happen that would make her choose between me and her terrible son that she would choose him. I think she pities me and that's why she tells me the things she does, only so that I have a memory of belonging somewhere so I don't become listless and stop working. She doesn't know it but it is the most wonderful gift I could have received. Because of her I know my name is Cione, not Yelsa like Anar calls me. In his language it means "weak." Now that I know my name is Cione I find it funny he calls me "weak." I am most certainly not weak. Sanor told me that by blood I am the daughter of Mal Tinlek, a second ruler of the Jebon Cluster. She told me Anar murdered my father then came for my mother who begged for him to spare me. She reminded me that he murdered her in front of me, slit the throat of a six-year-old's mother, though the horrible memory haunts me to this day. She said that the man she calls husband thought it would be amusing to keep the daughter of a high official as a slave, especially one that was only months younger than his own son. The thought of noble blood serving and cowering before him made him want to keep me. So he did.

To him I am now Yelsa, his servant girl. Yelsa, the weak in mind, body and spirit. And he's right. Yelsa IS weak. But I am not her, I am Cione. Cione is smart. She is strong in body and in spirit even more so. And some day she will be free. Free from the evil man who killed her family and took color away from her life. Free from the man's son, the dim-witted, slow, drooling Nad who chases her around, getting her beaten when she refuses him. Free from the man's wife, full of pity and false care but ready to drop and run at the first sign of danger. Free, once and for all of Tatooine, the cursed dustball, the wretched hive of scum and villainy, devoid of color and good, honest life. Cione will be free to go to the place that is green while Yelsa, the weak Yelsa is left to rot in the parched desert.

I am Cione. Never Yelsa.