When he was younger, he used to dream of the heroes of his storybooks, of knights in shining armor, and of princesses and castles. His favorite story was of a prince who rescued a princess from an evil dragon who kept her locked away in a tower.
His armor isn't that of a knight, not in the way he imagined, nor is he a hero come to rescue a princess. He is a Knight of Ren now, and he has long since ceased to dream.
His father used to read him stories every night. His mother would sit by the bed and listen, and sometimes she would sing to him. They would tuck him in under the covers, and his father said the monsters in the dark couldn't get to him that way.
His father is dead, and Kylo Ren killed him. He is on the opposite side of a war from his mother, and the only person who sings to him anymore is the nurse who checks on his lightsaber wounds, humming in a raspy voice to the anthem of the First Order. They were wrong; the monsters in the dark never came for him, but the monsters inside him eventually did, and no amount of blankets could save him from them.
Yet none mourn the youth he once was. No one cries for the childhood of dreams and heroes that died along with the boy called Ben Solo, from whose ashes rose the man of nightmares, Kylo Ren.