Just something I thought might be fun to try - might evolve into story.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of Star Wars

For a while, everything is dark. It is not the suffocating darkness of nightmares, nor the unawareness of dreamless sleep. She knows it is dark – dark and silent as the deserted Jedi Temple, her once home, that she had stepped into just a few short months after the purge.

She does not know how long she stays in the darkness, accompanied by only the memories of a red saber and the agony of a horrible truth. But the longer she lingers, the easier it is for fear to sink in -

Because is she not supposed to be welcomed to the Force? For while the darkness was not menacing, it was empty. Cold. Lonely.

Only when these thoughts become stronger, when she starts to feel tiny and unsure in a way she had not since her youth – she hears several voices whispering as one:

Not yet child. Not yet.

She sinks into oblivion.

I~I

Sun burns through her closed eye lids; a warmth surrounding her.

She sighs at the warmth, instinctively curling into herself to keep it close while voices speak above her in hushed tones.

They are familiar voices; deep and kind. They are...

Wrong.

Her eyes fly open, struggling to get out of the cot with too shaky legs that seem shorter than she remembers upon seeing the two men by her bedside.

Because they can't be here. They can't.

They're dead.

The two men are on their feet in an instant, calling out her name, both reaching out to help her...She jerks away from them as if they will burn her (which they have), stumbling back – all her grace gone. Theycan'ttheycan'tnononono...

Tears blur her vision as she stumbles further back, keeping a hand held out to keep them away. She has not cried in front of anyone in years, (she had no one she trusted so much anymore.) not for torture, not for death, nor for the terrible ache of loneliness. She won't break that habit even for this trick, this cruel awful vision taunting her with the images of those who she had so loved.

Then he says it; the word not spoken to her in over ten years with such painfully familiar concern.

"Snips."

She breaks; slumping against the wall, a sob catches in her throat, makes her choke and taste salt water. All she sees through the wave of tears are the night-sky blue eyes of Anakin Skywalker widening in disbelief, concern etched in every line of his face as his padawan let out a scream.

Any thoughts? Opinions, encouragement, constructive criticism?