[Was. As if he'd simply come and gone of his own volition; whatever she might have meant by it, it's the phrasing that has Ren's own temper flaring as a mirror to her own.]
Before he died. [Hissed, the thought shoved against her skin with a white-hot flash of memory - ash and dust across his tongue, fingers tacky with blood, a heat at the corners of his eyes that refused to wane.
The weight of an empire clutched in his arms, cut short.
Everything she could never understand, and a grief so deeply wounding that his side feels better by individual comparison: never has he felt so broken, so naked in his own skin, as he did when Anakin Skywalker laid listlessly in his grasp. Even Han Solo fell short of that mark, though the fracture remains compounded— gruesomely twisted. Mangled scar tissue Ren stubbornly refuses to acknowledge for what weakness it might incite.]
no subject
Before he died. [Hissed, the thought shoved against her skin with a white-hot flash of memory - ash and dust across his tongue, fingers tacky with blood, a heat at the corners of his eyes that refused to wane.
The weight of an empire clutched in his arms, cut short.
Everything she could never understand, and a grief so deeply wounding that his side feels better by individual comparison: never has he felt so broken, so naked in his own skin, as he did when Anakin Skywalker laid listlessly in his grasp. Even Han Solo fell short of that mark, though the fracture remains compounded— gruesomely twisted. Mangled scar tissue Ren stubbornly refuses to acknowledge for what weakness it might incite.]