Chapter Seven: Dreams
Rey dreamed. Conjured images floated past, scattered and distorted, and she let them bat about like wayward sea foam, too tired to try wrangling them into order to make sense of their meaning.
Maz holding out the Jedi weapon that brought ghastly, chaotic visions when touched.
Finn urging her to come with him, she begging him not to leave.
Kylo Ren tearing into her mind while she was held immobile in cold durasteel, stealing every personal privacy she'd ever allowed herself.
The foam frothed high as he overwhelmed the tumult, looming until she saw only flashes of him.
His fear. His anger. Encased in a swirled shadow of black, a void without escape.
The horrified curiosity Rey had felt when he'd removed his helmet, revealing not a scarred, embittered creature, but a man with brown eyes and a prominent nose. A man whose face was somehow angular and soft at once; a countenance full of conflict, undecided between steeled cruelty and tortured angst.
Rey dreamed of that face, reddened with rage, as it contorted in savage glee, vowing she would never see her friends again.
How he was all she had left in the galaxy.