"Everything is false here. When they give me back my house and my life, then I shall find my own true face."

Jean Tardieu, La première personne du singulier

Kylo got used to the holographic image: a silhouette, unnaturally enlarged to gigantic proportions, wrapped in plain robes, not fully visible on the digital image; Their edges seemed to dissolve in the shadows. The sight of the real figure of his master has always surprised him: Snoke was much taller than the tallest of men, and it was as though his body was built of bones only, covered with skin as thin and fragile as parchment. Half of his face, not disfigured by injuries, had symmetrical, sharp features, and there was no doubt that once he could have been perceived as handsome. But what was attracting attention the most were his eyes: one tilted and placed in a slit between the eyelids; the other, rounder, occupying a slightly lower place on the cheek. Kylo always found it difficult to meet the observant gaze of his master.

Additionally, his teacher seemed to have a particular fondness for extravagant clothes. Today he wore a kimono cloak, heavily embroidered with gold; he also had elaborately decorated triangular shoes with long tips. At the end of each of them a small pom-pom was attached. Kylo forced himself to look away. He saw Snoke spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture, a sing for him to come closer.

"Kylo Ren!" he exclaimed.

Kylo took a few steps forward and bowed his head deeply. In the corner of his eye he could still see colorful pom-poms.

"Master. You sent for me."

"Ah, yes, yes," Snoke said, waving his hand. "We have a few issues to discuss. Besides, I wanted to show you something. Finally, the rose bushes were brought to my garden. The transport took three months of standard time, can you imagine it?

"Rose bushes?" Kylo repeated sheepishly.

"Come," Snoke urged him. "And take your coat off!"

When Kylo entered the gardens he was wearing only plain pants and an under tunic; he'd even left his shoes in the citadel. Everything here was exactly the way he remembered it: the pattern of paths and trees, the intoxicating scent of flowers, how the shadows lay on the hot ground and the light danced on water flowing in the fountain. Green vines were reaching out to the sky, and the air was filled with steady hum of hundreds of bees' wings. He knew this garden, and it seemed real to him. Since Han Solo's death he had nurtured in himself the conviction that after the nightmarish winter night on Starkiller, the spring wouldn't come at all. And yet, around him he could see summer in its full bloom. Grass tickled his feet, light stung his eyes. He tilted his head and tried to look directly at the bright star, but quickly lowered his haze. Now he saw black dots dancing and flashing before his eyelids. His legs were carrying him deeper into the green tangle of leaves and sprouts, his moves devoid of volition. It seemed that whole world was moving on its own accord, passing by him, as he followed, unwittingly, the flurry of color that was the robe of his master.

He led Kylo farther, to the vine-covered bower. There was a table and two wicker chairs. Snoke gestured to him to sit down, then took the opposite seat.

"There are some matters that need our attention," he said. He saw Kylo curl his lips in one of his bizarre grimaces. "But it should not prevent us from having good time.

"Servant!" He turned to the person standing nearby. "Bring the food!"

No more than few minutes had passed before Kylo saw someone put a cup full of ice cream before him. He reached for a small spoon but hesitated.

"Eat" Snoke encouraged. "You don't want it to melt, do you?" He watched in silence as Kylo grabbed the spoon and plunged it deep into the dessert, then lifted a large scoop and—carefully, so as not to stain his clothes—put it directly into his mouth. After that he took another and another.

Snoke frowned. He had read many books from the human world. In the citadel he had collected an entire library. Most of it consisted of holovids and holobooks or digitalized versions of works published dozens of years ago and hundreds of kilometers away. He managed to find real treasures, printed volumes or manuscripts written in ink.

Of course, not all of them were of equal value, and it didn't have much to do with the way in which they were recorded. Some of them he watched with pleasure, like the movie where the action takes place in a sunny land, and from which he especially remembered the scene with the horse's head tangled in white sheets; or the one about a grotesque creature living in a mysterious town called Wisborg. Other were simply boring, like an hours-long holovid about an old man, ferried in a boat. This also concerned the holobooks: some of them had a dozen or so pages at most and were full of silly pictures and colorful letters. Some were so long that they were divided into volumes. Part of them have been written in prose like a story—made for children, Snoke was sure of that—about a toy soldier standing on one foot only; a few of them were written in rhyme, among them a narrative about ghosts, fratricide and absurd death in the cold depths of a river.

However, most of all he was interested in those that discussed human behavior. Some of them were full of metaphors, the meaning of which has been long forgotten, like in the last book he has read, written—as the cover suggested—by a bald man with white beard. This scholar wrote a lot about children the process of growing up, about dreams and their meaning. Unfortunately, he exhibited an extraordinary fascination with male reproductive organs and recognized their shape in all oblong objects. Snoke acknowledged the irony in the fact that said scientist had died of illness that eroded a part of his jaw and throat, illness which was caused—according to publications—by smoking tobacco; dry tobacco leaves were formed to resemble a thick stick, such as the one that the man was holding in the photo, very much the shape he was so preoccupied with in his work. Particularly was Snoke dismayed by the accuracy with which those pessimistic reflections on childhood, carnality, and death described his pupil's behavior.

Snoke watched as Kylo gobbled up the rest of his dessert. This boy was always hungry.

When Kylo was done he regarded himself carefully and spotted a drop of melted ice cream on his trousers. He licked his finger and started scrubbing at the stain with determination, to no effect. Snoke decided not to wait any longer.

"Time to address the issue at hand," he said, and Kylo immediately averted his gaze from his lap. "Tell me about the girl. How long has she been staying with us? Two months?"

"Yes, Master," Kylo assured him with haste. "The girl … she is more convinced to the ways of the dark side. She is a quick study, I've already taught her many useful things."

Snoke leaned forward in his chair. Contrary to what was being said behind his back, he did not reside constantly in the minds of people. But even when he did not make a conscious effort, he could usually sense the surface feelings of those around him. And it was easy to get lost in the rush of thoughts, memories, and dreams that permeated each other and mixed with sensations coming from all the senses. Sometimes the emotions of others flooded him without warning, waves whose intensity and chaotic nature made him nauseous.

Besides, finding the most useful piece of information always required breaking the superficial barriers of the mind. Snoke saw no reason to cause pain when the goal was easily achieved by other means. In Kylo's case, a casual conversation was enough, although his student found it difficult to express ideas and emotions in words, and he often preferred to show them to Snoke instead. But today something was different. He could feel his pupil's presence in the Force, but his thoughts were carefully hidden from him.

"A quick study indeed," Snoke said. "Tell me! Did this girl make love to you?"

Kylo's eyes opened wide with panic. His cheeks turned crimson; even his ears were red.

'Master, I assure you … this is nothing more than physical attraction!"

But Snoke laughed at that.

"Foolish boy, you are in love! I don't have to read your mind to know that. And if this is what you want I don't have any objections. But…" he paused. "There is something that worries me, namely your lack of trust towards me."

"Master…"

"Don't deny it!" Snoke exclaimed. "You tried to hide something from me, am I right? I advise you to think twice before you answer me."

"Master … I … I was afraid that…"

"What were you afraid of?" Snoke interrupted sharply. "Of me taking her away from you? You lose yourself in fantasy." He waited for his words to sink in. "I never forbid you from being happy. I never told you to kill your father. You must learn to make your own choices and live with the consequences. You are not a child anymore, Kylo Ren, and I'm not some kind of monster from the fairy tales that your mother used to tell you before you went to sleep. Those are dangerous thoughts, so be careful, or else they will lead you astray."

Kylo studied his hands. He wished he had his gloves with him. The sun burned the exposed skin on the nape of his neck and his forearms, and the pollen from the colorful flowers was getting into his eyes, irritating them. He blinked away tears.

"…And does she love you back?" Snoke asked, but his student remained silent. "Of course, you don't know that either." He sighed. "This girl is strong with the Force, but she is a wild animal. You let her into your heart and into your bed without thinking about what you are doing! That's why you keep her in jail?"

"It's an apartment…"

"Guarded by security systems and soldiers, day and night? However, it did not prevent you from—as I've heard—returning the lightsaber to her when she asked for it? Tell me this: If she tells you to go to her cell, close the door, and give her the keys, would you do it?

Kylo hung his head.

"Help me, Master. I don't know what to do!"

"That's better." Snoke smiled. "Now you are her master, and you must teach her respect. However, you will achieve nothing if you use violence. Your scavenger has survived years on Jakku, and I doubt she can be coerced into submission. You have to rouse her admiration. Didn't you mention that she is curious? Thirsty for knowledge? Show her holocrons. Give her books."

"She doesn't know how to read," Kylo admitted in shame.

"It doesn't matter. There were times when you didn't, either. Teach her. Invite her to the garden. Take her to another galaxy. Show her the world, and make it clear that she owes that to you. And remember! This girl knows how to take imperial droids into pieces. Be careful and don't let her do the same with you, because you may not be able to put the pieces back. Now, go! That's enough learning for today."

Kylo got up and bowed, but Snoke had something to add.

"The highest form of control is self control. I want you to think about this statement and, preferably, practice it. You don't have to believe me," he added, seeing the look on Kylo's face. "But you must listen. Understanding will come with time. Off you go! Bye-bye!" he said, waving his hands in an imitation of a farewell he saw in one of the human movies. He found it very funny.

Kylo bowed again and then marched towards the citadel.

He tried not to look back.