Bastila:
Screaming. Screaming for Father, screaming for myself, screaming for the tingling sensation in my nonexistent limbs. Screaming. A child lost in the woods.
There is no emotion; there is peace. Peace.
The word 'peace' reverberated throughout my skull. What sound would that of a thought word be? Who puts voice to thought? Panic began to penetrate every sense that I had left intact. I would have blinked if I still had the capability. I must not lose control.
There is no passion; there is serenity. Peace and serenity.
I would not be overcome.
I still had consciousness. Think, Bastila. I gingerly reached out with my mind and when I became confident that I would not be lost in the dark, began to grope blindly until I met with resistance. Like five hardened knots, they severed my brain from my body.
Careful, the task at hand was not to bludgeon my way out. Brute force would merely tighten the knots. Just like a training exercise, that's all it had to be. I could fall into a meditative trance, let the calming peace and serenity guide me. I would find a space between the fibers of those knots and my consciousness would slip through to my limbs.
I could do this.
