*this one is kinda spooky, so read at your own risk*

Bly was resting on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. The hallway of the Empire's garrison was quiet, as all the new recruits were out training. Today was Empire Day, which made Bly especially sad for a reason he did not remember.

Hey. Galle stopped in the doorway, resting his forearms on the frame.

Hey, Bly replied, still staring at the ceiling.

I'm gonna go to the library, Galle said. Do you wanna...come along?

Uhmm… Bly toyed with the idea, but he just wasn't in the mood to get out of bed. No, thanks. I'm gonna stay here.

Alright, Galle said. I'll see you soon. He moved away from the door panel, and Bly counted the number of footsteps he heard before the garrison door closed.

Bly closed his own bedroom door, rolling onto his side to face the wall. He closed his eyes, and let his thoughts drift back to the same day 1 year ago.

Carnival music began to play, and By found himself seated in the middle of an audience facing a large stage.

Emperor Palpatine stood off to the side of the stage, holding a silk rope that would release the curtain and reveal what was behind him. Behind curtain number one is…..

Aayla, Bly mouthed. Why he thought of her first, he did not know.

Correct! Palpatine cheered, and the red curtain flew into the air to reveal a Twi'lek standing on stage. The crowd roared with applause, stamping their feet and clapping wildly.

Something was wrong.

Wait.

Aayla was facing the audience backwards. Blaster wounds decorated her back.

Bly felt sick, but he couldn't move, couldn't look away from the show.

You don't… Palpatine broke off his sentence as a raspy laugh escaped his throat. You don't remember what she looks like?! the old man howled, spinning Aayla around.

She had no face.

Bly felt terror pounding through him as he tried desperately to remember his general's face: blue skin, bright eyes—no, dark brown eyes—with a bleeding nose—no, her nose had been intact before they shot her.

Hey, a young boy said beside him. Just make something up. He also had multiple blaster wounds decorating his chest, and Bly recognized a padawan braid on the back of his head.

Bly scrambled out of his seat, falling into the aisle. The crowd was laughing. A terrible, rasping, choking laughter that sent shivers across his skin. Bly raced to the stage, fighting to remember what Aayla had looked like before he saw her as a traitor.

WHY CAN I NOT REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE? he screamed, trying desperately to reach her.

Palpatine was nothing but a whirlwind of smoke and dead that slammed into him, knocking Bly to the ground. He grabbed Bly by the throat, dragging him across the front row where he could watch. The clone trashed in his grip, gasping for breath.

Oh! the shadow snarled. What you make is gonna get it!

Clones wearing yellow painted armor marched on stage, reenacting Aayla Secura's death on Felucia.

Palpatine squeezed his fingers harder, suffocating Bly as the Aayla With No Face fell right in front of him.

The crowd continued to laugh as she died.

And laugh, and laugh, and laugh—

Bly jolted awake with a start, gasping and sobbing. His hands went to his neck; there was nothing there. There were no wrinkled hands pressing the life out of him, nor stuffing smoke down his throat. Bly looked around the room, noticing the sunlight that still filtered through his windows. There was no shadow that haunted him except his own.

Bly had fallen asleep; it had been a dream, and yet as real as the memory.

Aight i'm crying