[That is the truth. Dug up from its bed and laid bare, a film set down across her memories as if it was her own from the start. A waking dream, a nightmare and what passes for its resolution - the ache of it lingering in the air between them. Lessened, not abated. Not erased.
And when she recoils, he turns away again to face the flames beside him, lifting his hands as if cold (he feels chilled in the aftermath) silent as a courtesy to her. One his own life refused to spare him in turn.
Because to endure alone in the face of great suffering is to become that suffering; no element in existence carries the capacity to do harm to itself. Because it was Snoke alone that reached for him, that believed him capable and did not fear the power he wielded, offering instead the greatness of a legacy ripped asunder.]
no subject
And when she recoils, he turns away again to face the flames beside him, lifting his hands as if cold (he feels chilled in the aftermath) silent as a courtesy to her. One his own life refused to spare him in turn.
Because to endure alone in the face of great suffering is to become that suffering; no element in existence carries the capacity to do harm to itself. Because it was Snoke alone that reached for him, that believed him capable and did not fear the power he wielded, offering instead the greatness of a legacy ripped asunder.]