A couple of days have passed and I don't think I like him very much. I don't mean that I'm supposed to love him – but I doubt that my irritation and dislike for him is a good sign. After all, I will be living with this person for a while.

I hate his wit. It makes me physically ill. His disgusting self-confidence makes me bristle – who the hell does he think he is? Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against sarcasm, but with his, vague discomfort follows, and I feel dreadfully inadequate. He has the amazing talent of making me look like a damn fool. Maybe it's just my own flaws coming through. They always rear their ugly heads when I least expect them to. I'm just being intolerant. I suppose that's not what truly irritates me.

He's too much like her. I see her in him. I see her in his assertive stride – no, not quite the same; nothing's ever the same…I see her in that infuriatingly calm demeanor. I hear her when he speaks. I wish I could hate him.

Because it feels like he's stealing her from me, piece by piece, ripping away little parts of her, until I will be left with but a ghost of a memory. It feels like he is trying to take her place in this Sith-forsaken universe. I want to rage at him for even remotely resembling her. I want to pour my heart out for him to see. I want him to see that my skin is not a thick as it seems. I want to crush his skull with my bare hands. Because he has no right.

oOo

Coruscant's nights are bright and hazy, restless and feverish. The light pollution shields you from any stars you could see among spindly towers. There is no night there. Alderaan's are clear and starlit. They are a cool mist on your skin. They are quiet, save for the chirping of insects and the flutter of a breeze against your window. They make you breathe. They make you feel alive.

I stand on a small balcony, soaking in the inspiring view. With nothing better to do, I had lit dozens of slender white candles and bathed in their soft, smooth saffron light. I am not sentimental, but I have always loved candlelight. It rekindles the waning flame inside. It lights one's passion. Passion has been unknown to me for a very long time.

Today, there is a double purpose to my brooding. The candles are in honor of her noble death. Lani, running amidst flames and falling debris and the eviscerated carcasses of buildings, their jagged metal ribs sticking up like thorns…thorns, thorns embedded in my flesh, in my heart, wispy trickles of blood and tears, flowing, and flowing, never ceasing…. Death. I flinch at the spear of a word. Too sharp. Too precise. Too much.

It's a farewell. It's letting her go. It's setting her free. It's setting me free. I let out a small sigh as I whisper my final words for her.

"Wherever you are, Lani…I hope it's far from here. Else I'd try to join you….I hope it's better than this hell we live in. I do love you, you know. No matter what I said. I never told you. I love you…"

My voice breaks. Before the pain can seep from my eyes, I shift them to the delicate, pointed flames, hot teardrops against the somber face of the night. But fire does not only claw and devour. Fire can heal as much as it can destroy. It cleanses of disease. It fuses wounds.

oOo

The candles still burned bright even as my soul cooled. I sat in pensive, dolorous silence for a very long time. A cool breeze glided along my skin, raising hairs. I drew my sweater tighter around my body. It was getting cold. A lone candle still burned.

I turned to leave and walked right into a wall of…flesh? Hard flesh. I looked up. He looked disheveled. His shirt was open. His eyes were grey today.

"Garen!" The name didn't sound right. Too grey for him. Then again, I was more of a misnomer.

"Sorry," Accompanied by a bleak grimace that could have passed for a small grin. I wished he wouldn't do that.

"There you are. I couldn't find you anywhere…" He trailed off as his eyes widened slightly – just slightly, but I've been told that I'm notorious for studying people. I study things; why not people? My friends have said that I should have gone into psychology.

"You alright?" Why are you trembling? He closed his eyes.

"Yes, I'm fine," nervously. "I, ah…I don't like fire."

"Why don't you?" Tactless me to the rescue. Fortunately for me, he shrugged it off.

"There's nothing here that can catch fire. One little flame can't hurt anyone." Whatever it was that I said, it only made things worse. He tried not to show it, but his slight, almost invisible shudder was not lost on me.

"It only takes one to burn down entire forests."

"Phobia?" Here I go again. I know I would have been terrible in politics.

A dark cloud drifted over his face.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

It was the first time that I had seen this frosty side of him.

oOo

It was strange and surprisingly unfulfilling to discover a breach in his stoicism. When he entered the balcony, Lani died inside him. The flame killed her. It feels like I murdered her. All I wanted was to tell her that I loved her, that I had never meant to be so bitter and cold…Gods, I'm thinking of her again.

Watching his indifference fracture was not as rewarding as I thought it would be. It left me with a horrible feeling of emptiness, futility and disgust. It's so irrational. I'm all nerves and wayward emotions. I'm being torn apart by millions of pinpoints within me. I am beginning to firmly believe that I am slowly but surely losing my sanity.

I'm sinking into myself. I close my eyes and forget the world. I wallow in my pitiful feelings. I cling to them to ward off the numbness, to fill the gap in me. I have nothing else.

I had never seen such horrendous black fright. The icy white light in his eyes left me chilled. I can only wonder - what ghastly thoughts circle endlessly in his mind? What demons haunt him? What loathsome winds blow in his soul?

He's breaking into my shell. I am seriously beginning to despise him.