[ That's right. She had forgotten that he is not the man she remembers, not the man she had wanted. The twinge in her chest brings a new resurgence of grief with it — the same that floods her each time she wakes to cold, unforgiving reality and remembers what he had done. What she had become. What he had pushed her toward embracing, finally.
Like him, though not in the way he had wanted.
She pauses in her efforts, laborious breaths following the heavy rise and fall of her chest. ]
You don't look anything like I remember.
[ In her weaker moments, she had wondered. Struggled to envision him, even. It had not prepared her for a stranger. No, not a stranger. A shadow of Snoke, decaying and feeble despite the power he had harbored. Something mournful touches her voice, though she doesn't force herself to examine it. It would mean touching the soft parts of herself she has forgotten, that she had offered him: vulnerable, wanting to be seen. ]
It reminds me of your master. [ That face, too, has faded — but she had been glad for that. This brings her no joy, only hollow victory. She pauses at the 'fresher door. ] I don't like it.
[ He has shown he doesn't care for what she likes at all. It's the only confession she offers, and even that feels undeserved. She disappears around the corner, leaving the door open — better not to give him a reason to interrupt her — and tosses her clothing aside, turning away from the mirror behind her, as she leans over to fill the too-lavish bathtub his quarters possesses. ]
no subject
Like him, though not in the way he had wanted.
She pauses in her efforts, laborious breaths following the heavy rise and fall of her chest. ]
You don't look anything like I remember.
[ In her weaker moments, she had wondered. Struggled to envision him, even. It had not prepared her for a stranger. No, not a stranger. A shadow of Snoke, decaying and feeble despite the power he had harbored. Something mournful touches her voice, though she doesn't force herself to examine it. It would mean touching the soft parts of herself she has forgotten, that she had offered him: vulnerable, wanting to be seen. ]
It reminds me of your master. [ That face, too, has faded — but she had been glad for that. This brings her no joy, only hollow victory. She pauses at the 'fresher door. ] I don't like it.
[ He has shown he doesn't care for what she likes at all. It's the only confession she offers, and even that feels undeserved. She disappears around the corner, leaving the door open — better not to give him a reason to interrupt her — and tosses her clothing aside, turning away from the mirror behind her, as she leans over to fill the too-lavish bathtub his quarters possesses. ]