Holding a hand out, grasping air at first, Aran - Book - sat, knee pulled up and chin resting on the kneecap. She was curled up tightly in the unfamiliar ship, senses eased past the hull for once to 'see' into space. Blinding, distracting - but she needed the awareness now she so often forsook.
What was she even doing anymore? The question was like a cancerous rot, eating at her thoughts and coloring everything she considered or did. What she wanted to do was at-odds with what she had to do, letting out a slow breath and taking stock, lining up actions one by one in her mind.
With the Force equivalent of two hands she took the few fragile bonds in her mind and shattered them, breaking the tenuous connections sharply and painfully. What few she had couldn't be used for anything now - not what she feared they could, or anything else. They were as brittle as old carvings - easy to break. She could remember a time when they were as strong and ever-lasting as mountain rock. She felt hollow as they crumbled and broke, an echo of regret as she shook out a hand.
Everything changed though, and the voices - people - who said nothing had, that she'd refused to change, were in conflict with the discussions in her mind. She'd seen the underbelly of the galaxy, seen the corruption in the ranks of the Republic and Empire, and still couldn't tell which was worse. A place offering choices but giving ashes and lies or a place offering strength and crushing the weak.
How was giving up the family and home she'd forged for herself helpful? Why was distrust for someone who'd broken a confidence wrong? Why were a thousand other inconsistencies, a hundred tiny lies of the Republic, a hundred tiny lies by the Senate, a hundred tiny pacifications by the Order, why were they all acceptable? Why was questioning counted as treason?
Her head turned slightly.
She'd been prepared to answer whatever the Masters had wanted to ask - within reason, within the normal bounds of her frequent evasions and temporizations. But the force-cuffs so soon after her time with Dimmy had brought out deep-seated fears, ones not addressed. Being blinded had heralded some of the worst times, from the resurgence of her old Darth and his meddling in her life, to the abrupt blackness and confusion of colors and vague shapes knowing she had technology crawling in her skull, a worm in her brain she couldn't claw free from. The helplessness, the deafening loss of what she considered sight - it had been a blow to have that demanded. Maybe Drakkan was right and she should've known better - but even then she'd wanted to believe that there was some measure of trust, that someone didn't think her a traitor in the wings.
Maybe that's what broke her restraints on her actions. Maybe the confusion from talking with Shae and leaving hadn't been enough, maybe the night awake on her ship had left her thinking less clearly but if faced with the same situation again Book wondered if she'd still act the same. She turned her head, hoping that her silence wouldn't be questioned as she let her thoughts turn inward.
She'd had so many things to say to Shae that night, so many times she'd bitten back words because harping there were the blunt statements from her former Master. How could they work as a Master and Padawan when Shae couldn't understand what drove her, and she couldn't understand what drove Shae. And before even that was the growing feeling that she had come to the decision dishonestly, sabers and threats at her back. If she hadn't come to the Order honestly, as Eron has suggested, maybe she would've had a different type of restraint, a different view. Maybe Tython wouldn't have been a second prison to her if underneath it all was the thought that she really didn't belong.
But none of it, her reasons for anything or whatever excuses she could or would've given, none of it mattered now. She hadn't even been sure she was going to leave the planet but the sheer possibility of reaching out for a friend had been, what? The confusion had been enough to leave her sitting on her ship, half asleep and lost in her thoughts that night weeks ago, docked still at Tython. And now... She could return to the underworld, set herself back up once more as a shadow-dealer. Until things calmed down she'd have to destroy Sanguine now, hide under a new alias, build her work back up. She'd be surprised if her accounts hadn't been seized, watchdogs set on any exiting transactions and she didn't know how to launder credits that competently.
Living that life would be hard, the 'luka knew. And it'd end as well, once she could no longer weave or spin a web well enough to protect herself and whatever assets she built up. Even if she managed a successful crime syndicate or shipping company there would always be the blaster at the back and upward-climbing miscreants to watch for.
She closed her hand into a fist. She still had another option too, one that teased her mind and thoughts with the elusive reason she'd left everything in chaos in the first place. She could give in to expectations and perhaps even end up free.
"The Force shall free me," she muttered low under her breath. Slithering through her mind was the soft sweet call to just stop, to give up, to just... go back. No matter what she picked she'd have to make her way forward.
It was a heavy realization but whatever home she'd eeked out in the Republic was gone forever.
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