Brief rewrite, to correct mistakes and add some spaces.
o.O.o
Envy
o.O.o
Every day, she woke with the sense that something was distinctly wrong.
It wasn't a premonition or anything the Jedi were rumored to be capable of; simply a feeling that something was horribly out of place. It always happened when she woke, never at a different time, but once the feeling came, it took several hours for it to gradually lessen. It never disappeared, though. Somehow, it was as if something had sunk underneath her skin and chosen to remain there, sending shivers down her spine whenever she did something, was addressed or spotted something that she thought she ought to recognize.
Such feelings never went beyond her consciousness, however. It was always just… there... and nothing ever came of it, or so she supposed. And it served her well at times, especially during combat training, this constant vigilance, a sense that she was always being watched and that somehow, there was something larger going on.
It went beyond the bounds of paranoia; when in a good mood, she would joke that this was her gut instinct, her sixth sense or simply womanly intuition. But then why did it unnerve her so? Why did everything feel… wrong?
She had suffered a bad concussion during a ship crash about a year ago, or so she had been told. She remembered only parts of the incident, but always there was that bright light that blocked out her memory when she tried to recall the event and she found herself clutching her head in pain. Her amnesia had been only temporary, fortunately, but still, it had been an unnerving experience.
Her current life wasn't entirely better.
She had been hired as an interpreter into the Republic fleet, eventually becoming a scout for it after several successful missions. Though only a regular soldier in terms of rank, every day, she was showered with praise and told that she was bound to rise in rank quickly, if she chose to remain with the fleet. Always with the coaxing, they came, whenever she even thought of leaving the fleet.
There were reasons for such things. Most soldiers were… unnerved by her. Intimidated, even. But, most of all, they were jealous.
It was said that she had had no formal weapon training before her entry into a fleet; yet from the moment she had picked up a vibroblade, her instructors went pale and then red and some eventually green. The blade danced in her hands like a firefly in the night and the forked tongues of jealousy would prattle on behind her back that such skill couldn't possibly be natural, even though at first, she had struggled a bit with the weigh of this weapon, an odd thing for one so skilled.
At least she wasn't a flawless marksman to boot, else she would never have been able to hear the end of the whispers behind her back. But still, she possessed such skill even in that area, though she couldn't explain how her sloppy aim usually managed to work out. And when someone aimed their shots at her, somehow she saw and knew and could avoid them without fault.
It was… instinct. She couldn't explain it otherwise.
She was a born diplomat and mediator; somehow, the right words always came and she knew how to voice them. She was a polyglot; the words were always with her. at times she began to think in a language she didn't even remember knowing before realizing where it had come from. It was a talent as well as a hobby, she supposed, though it tended to confuse people when she suddenly started to speak in an alien dialect on instinct.
And if people shunned her, which didn't happen often, she retreated to her own private little mechanical kingdom and tinkered with machines, large and small, complex and simple, for hours without end. She couldn't remember feeling love for any human being in her life – not the love so many raved and ranted about – and memories of her family were hazy blurs at best. However, she felt something akin to it when the little droid she had been setting together began to hum and operate as she had wished it to do.
She had no intention of marrying or having children; perhaps this was a reprieve from that, her only chance to create something with a life of its own. And she felt powerful when she created things, if a trifle childish. She had outgrown her need for applause already.
Thus envy surrounded her wherever she went, though it appeared mostly when she left the room, replacing the awe she had inspired. It wasn't that she wasn't well-liked; it was simply the fact that she seemed too perfect, too unreachable and unreal. The wiser of those who spoke with her noticed her casual detachment from other people, even if she didn't, for most of the time.
So young; she couldn't be over thirty in standard years just yet. So brilliant; she debated war strategy with seasoned soldiers and never ceased to surprise them. So magnetic; when she spoke, others fell silent and even those who usually never listened, only heard, opened up their ignorant ears.
So… alone.
There was not one person around her that could claim to understand her, be like her or be close to her. She was a separate being. Where she walked, fascination followed, but when she left, envy and jealousy crept to unless the spell was renewed.
The Republic wasn't good to its very core and those who fought under its banner were only human – or alien – and thus very much imperfect. Some considered her a prodigy, a blessing to the fleet. Others, who strived to be what she achieved without trying claimed that it was suspicious for a raw recruit to possess unnatural skill. Some weren't beyond muttering that she could be a Sith infiltration specialist, for all they knew.
For some reason, the notion always struck her as strangely funny.