"Don't make me ask you again. We would both hate that."
The remark is delivered offhand in an almost casual tone, but it is still a threat. Darth Sidious meets her eyes and Rey sees determination. It gives her pause. This Sith Master is an extremely dangerous man.
Moreover, she is far from reckless. Jakku taught her many life lessons, including to pick her battles. So when Rey finally makes her move against her hated nemesis, she will do it at the moment of her choosing when she has a viable strategy. Today is not that day. So, tempting as it is to tell this guy to go to Hell and risk the consequences, Rey eschews petulance.
She is, however, not above a little attitude. "Whatever . . ." She tosses her head aside in annoyance. "Hurry up." She fluffs up the hood of the heavy Sith cloak she wears and pulls it low in preparation for stalking the ship's hallways.
It's a gesture Darth Sidious appreciates. A slow, sly grin overtakes his features. Does he think he's making headway with her? He's not. But Rey will make a show of playing along if it will lull him into complacency. Let him believe her to be intimidated. Let him considered her caught. Rey fought enough rival scavengers and wild beasts on Jakku to know that an opponent is never more dangerous and creative than when they are cornered. Go ahead . . . underestimate me.
"I have something to show you." Darth Sidious has a coy look of anticipation about him as he intercepts her. Together, they exit the bridge. Where are they going? He does not say. He leads her in silence away from the main command center of his giant warship, past the massive cargo bay full of weapons and starfighters, down several hallways and past multiple security checks. Finally, they arrive at a very large, very brightly lit room. Their destination is full of buzzing equipment and gurgling tanks that remind Rey of bacta chambers. Except Darth Sidious isn't healing people in this laboratory. He's growing them.
Her eyes widen. "Clones."
She probably shouldn't be surprised to find that Darth Sidious' cloning obsession continues. She recalls seeing similar equipment on Exogol. But up close in this bright white and chrome setting that foremost reminds her of a scrupulously sterile medical facility, Rey is taken aback. She feels like an observer at a carnival show house of horrors. For the tanks arranged in neat rows all contain bodies floating in suspended animation. The room resembles some sort of mortuary except these people are alive.
Rey is revolted. Surely, this is a perversion of legitimate science. Clones belong to the category of things modern technology makes possible but ethics should forbid. But Darth Sidious has no such scruples, she knows. This is, after all, the man who constructed three Death Star super weapons and used them all.
How could the Old Republic ever have gotten comfortable with the moral dilemma presented by creating clone soldiers to fight its war? The clone army pretty much represented the zenith of public ambivalence at the heart of the long corrupt Old Republic Senate, in Rey's opinion. Say what you will about the heartless, soulless, merciless Separatist droid army. But creating a special race of completely disposable human slaves engineered without free will was an exponentially more wicked project. That the clones were the good guys, doesn't make it any better.
So how did the cultured, urbane, very civilized Old Republic intellectual class ever get comfortable with the clones? The short answer is that Darth Sidious was helming the Republic at the time and his influence corrupted everything. But that's far too easy of an explanation that lets the Jedi Order and the Senate off the hook for their deplorable lack of leadership. Plus, Rim-born Rey suspects that many rich and entitled Core citizens were perfectly happy for their tax dollars to go to fund a clone army so that they themselves would not have to fight and die in the far off war. Those Core citizens probably didn't care whether the Separatists in the Rim killed people as long as it wasn't them. No doubt it was much like how slavery persisted for decades past its abolition in the Rim—because while those systems were technically part of the Republic, even back then there were two different standards for what was tolerated in the Core versus the Rim. It was that not-so-benign neglect that paved the way for Ben's breakaway Rim secession movement.
And here now in neat rows stretching across the giant room are the present-day legacy of the Old Republic's moral folly. For like the long-ago clone soldiers from Kamino, the unfortunates in these tanks are people specifically created to serve Lord Sidious' aims. Perhaps they are to be puppets like Snoke. Or future versions of himself should his current host body not suffice. Rey takes in the sight of so many biologically engineered souls, and her heart aches. This seems like a betrayal of life . . . like a mockery of the Force.
Does Darth Sidious sense her disapproval? If so, he doesn't let on. If anything, he is eager to brag on his efforts. "Come, see my collection," he invites. "Come see the friends and children that science has created for me."
Repulsed Rey wants to say no, but that doesn't seem to be an acceptable response. So she reluctantly starts to pace beside Darth Sidious as he wanders the neat rows of clone tanks. He observes them with a proud and possessive eye as Rey mostly looks away.
"How many are there?" she mumbles.
"Nearly a hundred in all. I had multiple facilities hidden across the galaxy. We have only recently completed a mission to collect them."
"You're gathering them?"
"Yes. I lost several promising specimens on Exogol thanks to you and Kylo Ren. I knew you knew that I had survived, and you might come looking for me. So I collected the rest for safekeeping here in the Maw."
"Where no one can destroy them . . ." Rey breathes out.
"Precisely. Lady Abeloth is most accommodating."
Rey says nothing. But the more she hears about the goddess who is supposedly her mother, the less inclined she is to like her.
Darth Sidious starts talking. The guy loves to talk. He tells her, "My old Master reveled in all things arcane. He was convinced that the Jedi were not the greatest threat to the Sith. He worried that our downfall would arise from something far older that predated the schism between Light and Dark. That is why he studied the ancient stories of Lady Abeloth and her clan The Ones. That is also why he watched the witches on Dathomir so closely, and why he let me take their native son as my first Apprentice. Ah, here he is."
Sidious gestures to a nearby clone tank with some murky reddish humanoid form inside. Her captor beckons Rey around the backside of the tank to see the inanimate clone's red face. It's like something out of a nightmare—all teeth and horns.
"Behold Maul," Sidious grins, looking for her reaction.
"Darth Maul . . . " She's heard that name before. She looks to Lord Sidious with some surprise. "You cloned him?"
"I clone all my favorites. You never know when they might be useful again. I cloned Maul mostly so that if I ever took him back, I could give him legs again. After Vader, I decided I only wanted healthy and whole help. No more cripples," he sniffs.
"Maul lost his legs?"
"Yes. To Kenobi."
Darth Sidious is done with that tale. He has moved on to yet another clone tank. "Here's Mas Amedda. He was good, sly help. He was the dependable type unlike Maul."
Rey takes in the big, blue skinned form with distinctive tusks. "Chagrian?" she guesses at the species, squinting into the murky tank fluid that obscures as much as it reveals.
"Yes, and he was very vain about his horns," Darth Sidious recalls. He continues pacing his laboratory, inviting her attention to yet another clone specimen. "Here's Skywalker."
"Luke Skywalker?" she nearly chokes.
Darth Sidious' grin is unabashedly devious. He gleefully reveals, "Skywalker lost a hand on Bespin and I grew a clone from it. This one has no Force. Neither does Maul's clone. You see, you may approximate a replication of the body, but you cannot copy the soul. And so, while the genetic match may appear perfect on the screen, it is not in real life. The Force resists that sort of biological manipulation."
"Oh. I guess that's good," Rey decides. At the very least, it prevents Darth Sidious from creating his own private army of Dark Force users.
"It frustrated me for many years," her Dark nemesis confesses, "before I came to accept it and to understand it." Darth Sidious is reflective now as he comments, "It is fascinating how the body and the soul intertwine. We are not this crude matter," he grabs at his forearm in a gesture to his flesh, "and yet we are this crude matter. Driven by primal urges, influenced by pain and suffering, trapped in a corporeal prison."
"All except you," she points out. Because how many bodies has this zombie Sith possessed through the years? His current host clone is disconcertingly youthful and innocent in appearance. He looks like a young man who might merit the benefit of the doubt, like a maturing rookie who is still learning from his mistakes and should earn some leniency now and then. It's such a sharp contrast to Darth Sidious' true twisted and evil centenarian consciousness. His current clone, Rey realizes, is just more deceit from this master manipulator.
"Speaking of me . . ." Darth Sidious now shepherds her past a lot more clone tanks that are apparently of little interest. He brings her to the far end of the room and makes an expansive gesture around them. "Meet me," he chuckles like a mischievous ten-year-old with a secret.
Rey looks around at the rows of tanks that all contain human males of various stages of development, most with reddish hair that flutters in the tank fluid. These must all be clones of Sheev Palpatine, she perceives. Here is her arch enemy copied in the flesh dozens of times.
She makes a face. "That's a lot of you." It's bizarre.
Darth Sidious laughs. He has a gleeful, mocking cackle. "Oh, there's more down the hall. I have quite a family," he assures her. "Some of the best were lost on Exogol. That was unfortunate. But all the remaining ones I store here. No one can penetrate the Maw to destroy them."
Yes, and that's a problem, Rey knows. Because as long as Sheev Palpatine has a clone body to jump
his consciousness into, he will be difficult to permanently kill.
Darth Sidious must see the consternation in her face and in her mind. "Lady Abeloth is useful to know," he trills with smarmy glee. "Everything I need for the future is here in the Maw: you and my clone collection." Supremely smug, he lapses into grandiosity now. The Sith Master crows, "I don't live through the Force, the Force lives in me. I cannot die because the Force cannot die—it is everlasting. Darkness is eternal."
"Yes, I've heard," Rey sighs.
"I am—"
"All of the Sith," she finishes for him. "I know that line."
Far from being irked at the interruption, Darth Sidious looks pleased that she remembers.
He begins pacing the tanks of his replicas now, musing as is his habit. "Cloning has long held me in fascination. It is like looking in a cracked mirror. Things are always slightly distorted and yet you recognize yourself all the same. Look, there's my profile," he points to a subject in a tank. "It's captured on millions of photographs on the holonet," he tells her with pride. He even turns his head now in demonstration so she can compare him to the clone. "This one's a very good likeness, no?"
Who cares? Well, he does. This guy's narcissism has no bounds apparently. "Did you clone Ben Solo?" Rey now demands, as an unwelcome suspicion dawns.
Darth Sidious pretends not to hear as he continues his monologue of mad scientist gloating. "When cloning, you must resist the temptation to tweak too much. Vanity can lead you to make foolish edits. Too many edits and you can corrupt the process. Plus, the original genetic material degrades far too quickly once you start tinkering."
"Did you clone Ben Solo?" Rey demands again.
This time, Sidious acknowledges the question. "There was no need to clone my Apprentice. The clone was unlikely to have any Force power and I have all these clones here waiting for me already." Again, Sidious gestures to the vats containing his replicas. "Why be ugly Ben Solo when I can be myself again?"
Rey is very relieved. She murmurs, "Why indeed?" with maximum sarcasm.
"Ben Solo is a means to an end, Daughter. He was useful for a time, but his purpose is mostly done now that he has conquered the galaxy for me and sired the children you carry. The Skywalker line continues, but this new generation will not be distracted by Jedi teaching. At long last, the Sith will get their ultimate Dark Apprentice. Two of them, in fact."
"Our children are likely to be as conflicted as Ben and I are," Rey warns in a low voice. "If you think you are getting Dark slaves, you are gravely mistaken."
Darth Sidious looks at her and scoffs. "Oh, my girl, how foolish you sound. Look to history before you make that claim. Darth Vader was as conflicted as a man can be and yet twenty years he did my bidding. Ben Solo was also mine to command for years despite his misgivings. A conflicted soul, full of guilt and doubt, can be a very effective Apprentice. Don't kid yourself, Reina. The Skywalkers make exceptional Sith. Maybe not for forever, but for a time before they ultimately self-destruct. By then, I will no doubt have moved on to another Apprentice. The cycle goes on, you know . . ."
"They are the Chosen Ones," Rey warns, her voice husky with intensity. "My children will be born to balance the Force. Our family will be your undoing in the end," she vows.
Darth Sidious looks as if he is enjoying her show of spirit as he proceeds to school her in her error. "The Skywalkers are bastards of the Force," he corrects her. "Imbued with great power and great failings. They have promise but no staying power. They never go the distance, not like I do. The conflict born into them is their weakness."
"No! It is our strength! We are born for balance! It checks our personal extremes! It rights the course of the galaxy when need be!" she huffs. Because she's a Skywalker herself for all practical purposes, and not just by marriage.
"You've been listening to that old Muun too much," Lord Sidious dismisses her point. "How many times must I tell you—do not trust him. Plagueis manipulates your good intentions for his own ambitions. Balance is a lie. The Chosen One is a fairytale told to gullible Padawans. Rey, I cannot be stopped. There's nothing you or Kylo Ren can do to defeat me now. And I beat my old Master once before. I can do it again easily now that I have grown into my full power."
He says these words matter of fact, without heat or intent to persuade. That's how confident he is.
Rey gulps. For she fears that Darth Sidious is right. But the words of Old Plagueis overheard through the bond now rush up to her mind: overconfidence is his weakness. And that thought gives her hope. Still, looking around at all these clone tanks, she realizes that her escape plan just got harder. Because there's no point in saving herself and leaving behind all these clones for Darth Sidious to use in the future. She's got to destroy everything in this room—and any other tanks elsewhere—before she can flee the Maw in good conscience.
So, she tries to keep him talking to pump him for details. "You said there are other rooms . . . nearly a hundred tanks in all?"
"Yes," he purrs.
"And they're mostly you?" she fishes for information.
"It's a mix of subjects," he reveals. "There's plenty of me, but also many old friends long gone but not forgotten. Sly Moore is here. Wilhulf Tarkin too. And others, of course. Senators and Separatists alike." He laughs at his own joke that isn't funny. Then, in a confiding tone, he adds, "I like to keep them. It amuses me to remember them in the flesh instead of mere memories."
Rey doesn't know how to respond to that sentiment. Does Darth Sidious have friends? He certainly has lots of minions, but that's not the same thing. These clone 'friends' in his queasily named 'collection' all seem to hail from his heyday as Chancellor and Emperor. It's a little like how Rey imagines walking through an old-time wax museum must have felt. You see physical representations of important famous people but get no impression of their actual selves. It's creepy and also somewhat sad. So why is he showing her this?
Glancing over at the supremely confident Sith Master, Rey senses a hidden weakness. It was her same hidden weakness for so long, so she is particularly attuned to recognizing it. He's lonely. Lonely without the public adulation he enjoyed for so many years. Lonely without an Apprentice to groom. Lonely without an inner circle of henchmen to consult and to flatter him. Sheev Palpatine is down to a conspiracy of one at this point.
That's why he's showing her this.
Suddenly very uncomfortable to be empathizing with her enemy, Rey walks up to a clone tank that houses a familiar figure. "Snoke . . . Darth Plagueis the Wise." She'd know that distinctive Muun anywhere. Rey turns to Sidious. "I'm surprised you keep him around."
Her nemesis considers the point. He decides, "They weren't all bad years. I might have followed him as Apprentice until this very day had he not forsaken me for Anakin Skywalker. But in the end," the still much aggrieved Sidious crows, "Darth Vader did not replace me. He served me." This is clearly a very important point, judging by her captor's expression. "Once, I was but the learner, but in time I became the Master. I was not the favorite son, but I prevailed nonetheless." Sheev Palpatine seems to think of himself as the jilted underdog still after seventy odd years at the apex of the galaxy's power structure. But maybe you never leave behind a sense of inferiority once it takes firm hold, Rey surmises.
Well, she's had enough of this freak show. And she frankly doesn't want to feel sorry for Darth Sidious. Rey announces, "I'm tired. I'd like to go back to my quarters now."
"Yes, of course," he defers as always out of a transparently faux concern for her health. But this time, Lord Sidious makes a condition. "You may go, but not before I show you my surprise."
Rey doesn't like the sound of that. She shakes her head. "I don't like surprises." Surprises were always bad on Jakku.
But yet again, Darth Sidious won't take 'no' for an answer. "You'll like her. She's adorable. Come," he beckons.
She? With much trepidation, Rey follows him towards a special clone tank hooked up to a lot of complicated equipment. This tank has very dark, almost opaque fluid inside, unlike the others. "During the initial years, the subject requires special proteins and monitoring," Darth Sidious tells her. With a glance over at her still flat belly, the Sith observes, "Think of the vat as akin to amniotic fluid. It's precious, life sustaining stuff for little ones. Conditions must be right for things to develop normally."
Little ones? "Are you cloning younglings?" Rey accuses, aghast at the thought.
"At present, I have just one little girl. Such a sweet thing." Darth Sidious flips a switch and this particular clone tank is suddenly brightly lit from within to reveal its contents. Inside is a small human body wafting in death-like repose. "Recognize her?" Sidious prompts.
Rey does. It's a very familiar face. Seeing it makes her heart race.
"The likeness is very good, no?"
Rey stares back at the face of a small girl. This clone can't be much more than two years old at most. She has a cloud of dark brown hair and a round face with strong brows and prominent cheekbones. And look at that little rosebud mouth hanging half open.
"She could be your twin," Darth Sidious coos, clearly looking for a reaction.
He gets one. Rey whirls on her captor. "How did you do this?" she hisses.
"Such anger . . ." her enemy goads. He is pleased.
"How did you do this?!" Rey demands again.
"I can feel the hate flowing through you . . . Good, Reina. Gooood. It makes you stronger and more powerful."
"How. Did. You. Do. This?" Rey spits out the words. She's so furious in the moment that she fears she might do something foolhardy.
Her vehemence prompts Darth Sidious' unapologetic reply. "When you fought Snoke's guards, one landed a blow on your upper arm. It must have been a deep cut because that deadman's blade had enough of your flesh and blood left on it for me to begin a specimen."
"You cloned me?" Rey can barely believe it. She blinks and says the words again. "You cloned me?"
"Why naturally," ghoulish Darth Sidious affirms. "We are family. You belong in my collection. And look how cute you are." The Sith smiles indulgently at the clone toddler in the tank. "I quite like being a grandpa."
"I can't believe this!" Rey is full of impotent rage. She is incensed by this violation of her dignity and afraid for how this unwitting, innocent little clone girl will suffer.
"She's small now, but she will grow. She is an unaltered clone who will mature in the normal lifespan. She is devoid of the Force alas. But I keep her anyway. You never know . . . she might be useful."
"You are a monster!" Rey thunders. She's never meant any statement more.
Her captor, however, takes it as a compliment. "Monster doesn't begin to describe me," Darth Sidious reproves. "For I am Darkness incarnate. I am all of the Sith!" he boasts.
Rey doesn't what to do, but she fears she might do something rash. So, she flees. But the sound of Darth Sidious' malevolent cackle mocks her retreat.
She is breathless when finally she arrives back alone in her quarters. Rey doesn't know whether to cry or to rage . . . maybe both. For truthfully, she is feeling very trapped and increasingly desperate. With so much time alone here, she's been uncomfortably reminded of Jakku. And that's scary unto itself. More than once already, Rey has been tempted to start marking the days on the wall. But she resists because she's no longer that scavenger girl who belongs to no one and has nothing but hope to live on.
Still, fears assault her mind far too often of late. She's worried that Ben will come to rescue her and get himself killed. She's worried too that she will be unable to save herself. And then these twin babies she's supposedly carrying—who Rey tries not to think about—will become the latest pawns of Darth Sidious. They will follow in the footsteps of so many Skywalkers who wittingly or unwittingly did his bidding. And perhaps they too will have clone replicas of themselves in tanks.
Why does the Force allow this? And why does Lady Abeloth continue to aid and abet Darth Sidious? Does she truly hate Plagueis so much that she will enable his enemy Apprentice in all his aims? And at the expense of her own Skywalker family? What kind of mother does that? Whoever this Lady Abeloth person is, Rey is fully prepared to despise her. Lady Abeloth might technically be her mother, but Rey feels no kinship for the mysterious goddess. Darth Sidious might assume that he can manipulate her with her desire for a family, but he's wrong. Because there's nothing tempting for Rey about calling the devious witch bitch of the Maw 'mother.' Better to be an orphan, Rey decides, than to enable the schemes of the vengeful Lady Abeloth and her hate-filled sidekick Darth Sidious.
When and if that goddess ever reveals herself, Rey plans to give her a piece of her mind.
She hates the trite metaphor of a 'journey' through life. But it's the best she can come up with for her own personal progression in understanding since that fateful moment when she handed Luke Skywalker his lightsaber. Rey has a growing—and humbling—appreciation for the vastness of the Force, but also a frustration at the rigid fixedness of the mortal illusions that have surrounded its study. On both the Dark Side and the Light Side, people constructed rules and decreed codes. They were meaningless, although rigidly and ruthlessly enforced. So many have died over those rival ideologies. And why?
Rey is uncomfortably reminded now of a sarcastic comment Ben once made when she attacked the First Order's fake news. "People hate the truth," he told her. Ben was right insofar as the Force is concerned. Because the truth of balance upended both opponents. The Jedi and Sith were each wrong. Why could no one ever see that? Because no one on either side was willing to entertain that notion. It leaves you too adrift, too uncertain. And that's understandable. People don't jettison fundamental truths lightly, but when they do, they do it for another answer they have concluded is better. No one ever says, 'I'm wrong, but you're also wrong. There are no known right things. There are only questions,' and finds its satisfactory.
Well, except for Ben Solo. Whether his insight had its origin in desperate misery over Luke and Snoke, or whether it was cheeky 'burn it all down' nihilism run amuck, Ben Solo was right. That's why more than anything, Rey wants Ben to survive. And so, she prays again now: Do not open the bond. I can take care of myself. Force, you don't need to save me. Just save Ben. If anyone can find balance, he can.
Is anyone listening? Probably not. But it makes Rey feel better all the same.
What a labyrinth of half-truths her lineage has turned out to be, she broods sullenly. When Darth Sidious called her his granddaughter on Exogol, she knew something was fishy about the claim. It was a version of the truth, but not the whole truth. But then when Plagueis revealed her to be his child in the Force, that tale had the ring of veracity. She believed him. Still, that Muun omitted some very important details. In a stroke of instinctive insight, Rey even once called herself a Skywalker on Tatooine. But when she laid claim to that legacy, she hadn't truly appreciated all of what it entailed.
Mostly, she wanted to be someone who matters. She's long wanted to be something better than an orphan scavenger who no one wanted . . . the helpless throwaway preschooler who was sold off for drinking money . . . the abandoned little girl who yelled 'come back!' to uncaring parents. Her dream that someone important would arrive to one day claim her as their kin persisted for far too long. Yeah, it was a coping mechanism. But Rey needed a fairy godmother-type fantasy to cling to in order to survive Jakku.
Well, it turns out that she is someone who matters . . . a lot. That's how she finds herself in her current predicament. They say be careful what you wish for, and it's true in her case. For a twisted, horrific version of her fantasy has ironically turned out to be the answer to the riddle of her past. Far better to have been Rey Nobody, she glumly laments, than to be who she truly is. But maybe it's time to stop looking to the past for explanations and validation. More and more, Rey thinks Ben has been right all along: she should let the past die. That holds true for more than just the Force—it's also true for her personally. Who she is matters less about where she comes from, it's about where she's going. She and the Force decide her path, not Darth Sidious, Lady Abeloth, or even Plagueis.
But will she ever escape the Maw? Rey wanders close to the large, panoramic window in her quarters, bleakly staring out. Wherever the ship is now, it is pitch dark in its current surroundings. The fantastic display of colorful gases and the debris field she saw earlier on the bridge are gone. There is only darkness now. That seems very fitting for a black hole. But it means when looking out the window, Rey sees just her own reflection thanks to the glare of the lights inside her quarters.
Rey's instinct is to do what she always is—to turn away. To ignore what she sees because it's not how she views herself. The sword, the cloak, and the dress might be the trappings of the Sith, but it's only superficial clothes. So, who is she beneath all that? Rey stares, forcing herself to face what she looks like currently. "I am more than this . . . I am better than this . . ." Rey says the words aloud as encouragement.
Don't be afraid of who you are. It's what the scary woman in the vision from Endor told her. The words flit through her mind now.
But who is she really? That's a question Rey has been trying to answer all along. She's the lost daughter of a goddess who was orphaned by parents on the run from Darth Sidious. She's a Force prodigy who trained first with Leia Organa and then with Ben Solo. She's a little bit Light and a little bit Dark, and that means she is a bad fit for the competing Force religions of her day. She also falls awkwardly somewhere between the Republic's high-minded principles and the First Order's pragmatic mandates. She's conflicted every bit as much as Ben, Rey has come to realize. It got her arrested for treason she refuses to regret. Sorry, not sorry to Finn, Poe, and the rest of the Republic. The ceasefire was worth it.
Don't be afraid of who you are. Rey hears the words again in her mind.
Where does her allegiance currently lie? It's to Ben who she loves and to peace that she values. She grew up stepping over mummified bodies in wrecks on Jakku, a constant reminder of the cost of a war that settled nothing. For thirty years later, the war began anew. Fighting is not the answer—the Jedi were right about that. But fighting is necessary when you face a threat like Darth Sidious. Rey is fully prepared to use any means necessary to kill him, even if they are Dark. Sorry, not sorry to Luke and to Leia for that.
Maybe that's the ends justifying the means in some Dark bargain, but Rey thinks it's the only pragmatic solution for the galaxy's predicament. And that's where the Jedi went wrong, she believes. The Jedi worried too much about the slippery slope of the Dark Side, setting hard, bright line rules because they fretted once you start down the Dark path it will forever dominate your destiny. Wrong. That cautionary fear mongering led to an overly restrictive lifestyle with unnecessary prohibitions on things like attachments.
The goal should have been to respect and to appreciate the Dark Side for its uses, but also to learn when and how to pull back from the Shadow Force. The Dark Side didn't need to be banned. It should have been taught and understood so that Force users knew how to employ it with restraint. Moderation should have been the approach, if balance were the goal. But instead, the Jedi concerned themselves with purity tests.
Well, she's no pure Jedi. Whereas once that might have distressed and disappointed Rey, it now empowers her. Facing down her reflection in the Sith trappings she's forced to wear, Rey owns who she is. Part of her is this dramatic, scary woman. But not all of her. "I am more than this . . . I am better than this . . ."
The whisper flits through her mind again. It's approving. Don't be afraid of who you are, Freya. And that's when, before Rey's amazed eyes, her reflection shifts. It's still her face she sees. But it's her wearing the formal Jedi costume Astral Sidhu helped her select for the Chancellor's first big speech many months ago. This is the other Rey. Light Side Jedi Rey faces her down in the mirror's reflected glare.
Rey silently digests this visual shift and speaks aloud. "Show yourself! I know you're there!" Because looking down at the Sith trappings she still wears, they don't match her reflection at all.
Rey now strongly suspects that her reflection was never really her at all. It was Lady Abeloth all along. And perhaps, it was Lady Abeloth on Ahch-To and on Endor as well. Watching her. Calling to her. Luring her to do the work of Darth Sidious. Could she be mocking her with this Jedi version of her reflection?
"I know you're there!" Rey hisses again.
The response is that same stifled giggle she recalls from earlier. And then the reflection that isn't a reflection starts to speak to her.
Welcome home, Daughter. Long have I waited for this moment.
Rey swallows hard and rallies. Using her best Jakku bluster, she rages, "I won't release you! I won't be your pawn any more than I will be the pawn of Darth Sidious! Whatever you want from me, you won't get it!"
The goddess who looks like Rey's Jedi self giggles again. It's an incongruous, annoying habit—Rey isn't the giggly type.
Angered by what she perceives as ridicule, Rey snarls her next words. "You won't tempt me with power. I declined the Dark throne! So if you think I will rescue you from the Maw in exchange for some fancy title or Empire, you are gravely mistaken. I'll die here before I turn you lose to help Sidious!" She'll die and she'll take her unborn children to the grave with her to ensure they won't be used as pawns either.
Freya, my Daughter, The Daughter, you misunderstand. You are not here to rescue me. And there's that giggle again before the breathy, girlish voice sounds again in Rey's head. I am saving you.