Rey had been confined for three days now. She had gotten used to the darkness now, and the solitude.
As a matter of fact, Rey liked being alone. No matter what she tried to tell herself, the truth is that people disgusted her.
Now that she was alone again, Rey could sink back into the comfortable silence and live the rest of her life in solitude, in peace.
It wasn't all peaceful, really, but Rey refused to acknowledge that solitude could hurt, too. That she would lie awake, crying into the darkness, wanting nothing more than her parents to hold her one more time.
In the mornings, Rey would pretend like nothing ever happened, to try and forget the pain.
Tears are, after all, nothing but water and salt.
Though he pretended not to notice, Kylo Ren knew that Rey cried every night. And he knew why, too. For as long as he had known Rey, she had never been one to stand violence. Always, she had to fight against it, no matter what side she was one, what color she wore, or who she would end up betraying.
But after the day when she had taken his hand, Rey had begun changing.
She didn't smile so much anymore, and cried so much more. Rey was becoming more and more like him every day. Like a monster.
Kylo Ren didn't like it. Not one bit.
But in the end, he was to blame for this. If he hadn't seduced her with talks about dark thrones and petty dreams of freedom, she wouldn't have become like this.
If he hadn't held out his hand, she would've been happy.
She wouldn't be crying into the darkness every night.