[ Her dreams aren't pleasant. They never are. But in these dreams, Snoke has wormed his way into her subconscious, and he pries open her fears as a way to better understand what crime she has committed against him. There's something needy and clinging and desperate rooted there, and as he prods at it, her arms twitch tighter around the book, clutching it to her chest.
It has her on the defensive, subconsciously, but also eager to grasp for anything that might wake her. When the blanket settles on her, Kira snaps awake. Her first instinct is to presume a threat, so she reaches out to grasp his arm, grip like a vice and eyes wide and dark with —
Fear. Not hate or anger. Her heart hammers in her chest, her jaw tight. The book has fallen away from her chest as her other hand goes for her lightsaber, but she falls short of igniting it, though her grip on the gleaming hilt is tight enough that her knuckles have gone white.
Information filters in slow. He is not trying to kill her in her sleep, probably. A blanket would be an awful way to do it. As restless as she feels under its weight, she does not think he is smothering her. But that leaves her with something she can't make sense of — gentleness, in the wake of callous cruelty that had refused to see her as anything but a creature.
She should be glad of that. She is a monster. She doesn't want to feel as human as he makes her.
It's all very confusing, and so she's left breathing hard, tense without letting up, but also not attacking him outright. ]
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It has her on the defensive, subconsciously, but also eager to grasp for anything that might wake her. When the blanket settles on her, Kira snaps awake. Her first instinct is to presume a threat, so she reaches out to grasp his arm, grip like a vice and eyes wide and dark with —
Fear. Not hate or anger. Her heart hammers in her chest, her jaw tight. The book has fallen away from her chest as her other hand goes for her lightsaber, but she falls short of igniting it, though her grip on the gleaming hilt is tight enough that her knuckles have gone white.
Information filters in slow. He is not trying to kill her in her sleep, probably. A blanket would be an awful way to do it. As restless as she feels under its weight, she does not think he is smothering her. But that leaves her with something she can't make sense of — gentleness, in the wake of callous cruelty that had refused to see her as anything but a creature.
She should be glad of that. She is a monster. She doesn't want to feel as human as he makes her.
It's all very confusing, and so she's left breathing hard, tense without letting up, but also not attacking him outright. ]