Hey guys! I'm so sorry I haven't been uploading lately! Things have been really busy, and I've been focusing more on my drawing lately, and trying to keep up with my social media accounts. I thought I'd upload this, which I actually wrote a long time ago but never used b/c I didn't like it enough. I'M SUPER INTO THIS SHIP AGAIN LATELY, SO I LIKE IT AGAIN! Anyway, this is just a little blip that I wanted to share. Enjoy! (And hope you had a great Holiday Season!)
He lost himself around her.
He'd never known anyone like her before. He'd had friends, pathetic padawans that his former self had interacted with.
He'd had those that he knew within the confines of the First Order, but they were cold and aloof, like himself. He'd known many, but none like her.
The scavenger.
He didn't need attachment. It lead to weakness, and he'd already had more than enough from that. Snoke knew this, and had rebuked him for it. He couldn't seem to help himself.
He reflected on this when he was alone. He regretted his impulsive decisions, and sometimes his lack of. He'd had a burst of desperation in those woods. He knew he wouldn't let himself kill her, and he knew his window of opportunity was slipping. So he'd made a last attempt to sway her, to influence the temptation that he knew she'd had. He'd succeeded in helping her tap into her anger to some extent, and he scowled thinking of it. He had watched her close her eyes and feel, and hadn't taken the opportunity, the perfect opening. She'd been so beautiful, her previously contorted features relaxed in the peace that she'd found somewhere, peace that taunted him, just out of his reach. The sparks from their blades dancing around her face cast her with soft colors and he'd found himself unable to think, to react, drinking her in like a fool with a desperate addiction. And he was a fool. His spur-of-the-moment decision to take her and leave the droid had cost them much, and he'd lied to himself, telling himself that he could use her.
The truth was he was weak.
And the Supreme Leader knew it. He'd brought that weakness to light, calling it compassion.
He'd taken off his helmet for her, sparing his advantage of anonymity. He'd told himself she was powerful, that he could teach her, but -he cringed- He needed her.
Desperately.
He didn't know why. Maybe it was because she seemed to be his equal. Maybe it was her beauty, or her anger, or the fire that burned in her amber eyes.
Maybe it was her brightness. He rubbed his hands into his scalp. After all he'd done, all he'd gone through, the light still called to him. And now it had taken new form. The only way he could describe her was new. Her alert fear, her wonder, her smile… She was naive and dangerous and beautiful.
And he was intoxicated.