Dark boots fall upon pristine snow, sinking with little effort, producing the compacting crunch she’d grown so comfortable with by now. How fitting that ice blue eyes were the ones regarding the white landscape, dotted with imperfections, enriched by the boiled bits of slug that clung to her twin foils. With forearms to tremble, and joints to cry in exhaustion upon every step that climbed her higher, she’d reached the zenith of a small hill through sheer will. A sigh to fill the gaps between stars preceding the stab of foils, burrowing them into the waves of white as her own frame joined them a split-second after. Tearing away her hood, she’d laid sight upon darkening skies. Somewhere in that coming storm, laid a comfort unbound by the terrors of her agonized flesh.
A puff of condensing mist announced her voice to the world, as her mind travelled back to a lesson upon this wretched world. “I think I know now. I think I see.” A conclusion reached with a tune as freezing as the landscape she’d sought to conquer, and what better to reach such a finality but with darkness to claim her sight? Veiled eyes regarded the world through the force, her senses licking across the immediate area with an hunger unbound. A sickening laugh of untold joy meeting the now growing breeze with its chilling touch. “How could I find t’way into meself like this?” Words now whispered, the last she’d share with this sphere she’d grown to despise. Yet her mind rambled on.
A conclusion reached only when she’d torn herself away from others, a conclusion reached only when the passion she’d been taught stood nearby, a conclusion reached by accident; The Jedi represent fear. And she dared use it to reflect upon these lands of endless entropy, where warmth was stolen by any and all. Within that sneak thief path, she found her answer. To fear loss is but one thing, to act against that loss is another. Hardly a passion, hardly the way of the Sith. Jedi fear the loss of control, the bleeding river that becomes emotion and passion and act intertwined in rapid breaches of loss of self. Or as Andrala now saw it, a representation of ego unshackled, a truest of selves.
In that fear, the Jedi seek to eradicate passion, to halt emotion, to lay boundary after boundary while preventing even the most fickle of seeds to grow into anything that makes us human. Children are taken, for they are empty, and they are kept empty. The horror of this crime began to take root within Andrala’s mind, the sheer audacity of it, the scope of it - breaking her into a being of fear. Disgust washed over her, becoming a caustic tint within her force as hands and fingers tore away gloves to dip them into the snow. A pained cry biting through her as much as the frost.
“I-… I can’t be… Chained any more.” The spacer muttered through agony and will. “They took, but I want!” She exclaimed, through strength and desire. “I’ll take, b-because I deserve it.” She concluded, by resolution and selfish compassion. No longer did she fear the cold, for it ate at her body, the predatory world seeking to steal from her. No longer did she carve out a bubble of heat to keep the world from her. Now her eyes had parted, and greed filled that beating heart through dark inspiring skies. She would steal back her warmth, she would take it from the cold, deny it every scrap and then some. Dying hands clutched into the powdery white and then reached for her foils. Droplets to ebb and fall from them as she retrieved her weaponry, she’d not need gloves that day any more.
“You’ll still be nothing.” That lingering curse in her head told her. “Shut up!” She cast back across her shoulder in a fit of rage.