All she'd ever known were the busy streets of South Coruscant. For her, travel was by foot, currency was scarce, and every day was a fight for survival.
Her tiny body shook numbly, catching absolutely no warmth from the large hand that enveloped her own tiny one. The hand that belonged to Luke Skywalker. The only one he had.
Small children, children her own age, stopped and stared as she passed. She wasn't an easy sight for the eyes; especially younglings. She was different, and not in the way anyone would want to be.
She gazed lightly at her reflection in the windowed buildings they passed. She looked nothing like the others who stood on the concrete and looked on.
Her limbs were skinny, absent of the meat they needed, yearned for. Her cheeks were hollow, her green eyes sunken and swallowed by large purples bags.
Then, there were bruises, blood, and scrapes.
No child of 8 was meant for this violence, this abuse; none had seen what she'd seen. Few adults could survive the memories that spun through her head at a mindless repeat. Memories of scenes that splayed out only hours before.
She couldn't understand why she didn't cry. Luke couldn't either.
She hadn't seen anyone like Luke before, but she knew who he was. What he was.
If only she'd known her force abilities as Luke had; maybe her father would've survived the murder attempt.
His death came at the hands of the men who practiced the purest of evil.
The little girl shut her eyes and tried to forget the strangled screams and the begging. She wished it would stop echoing in her ears. It blocks out the other children's whispers.
"Lyra?" Luke calls the small girl out of her thoughts, forcing her to open her eyes. An adolescent girl with a golden halo of hair towers before her. Lyra trembles, feeling a great intimidation at the sight of the girl. Luke crouches down to meet her big eyes.
"This is Del-Naris. She's going to take care of you for a few hours." He introduces, awkwardly trying to comfort her by patting her tiny arm.
Del-Naris and Lyra watch as Luke leaves them alone together, feeling completely different emotions at being in each other's presence.
"Lyra, would you like to play with some younglings?" Del-Naris coos softly, unsure of a way to speak to a malnourished 8 year old child. Lyra doesn't want to play with the other children who stare at her. She wants to go home and envelope herself in the warmth of her father's welcoming arms.
She doesn't know what she'll do without him.
She tries to be happy. At this price, she is becoming everything her father dreamed to be; even if he couldn't witness it himself.
Without her father's death, she may never have gained Luke Skywalker's attention. Through his searches for force-sensitive children, he'd seemed to miss her; someone who lived on Coruscant itself, right under his nose.
"Why don't you play with Donati and Sybil?" Del-Naris suggests, nudging (practically shoving) her small body towards the gaping younglings.
The second Lyra's eyes meet Donati, she squeals in surprise.
"W-why is he red?" The little girl frowns, tugging on Del-Narris's pant leg. She points to the boy, who seems upset at how she'd reacted.
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covet ➸ kylo ren (1)
Fanfiction"The marks people leave are too often scars." - Lyra Escara had fulfilled her father's dream of becoming a Padawan learner at a very young age; as a small child hearing his tales of the Rebellion, she'd longed to learn to ways of the Jedi Code, and...
