Broken Dreams

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Anakin was having a rather sleepless night, and he didn't know why. Perhaps he was still uneasy from the stranger at the door. Yes, that had to be it. He rolled over again and pressed his back against his wife's.

As he was turning over the event in his mind, a hacking cough through the wall made him jump. Padmé stirred but did not wake. The cough came again. He carefully slipped out of bed and into the hallway, where he tried to tell which bedroom it had come from. There, again, to his left. Ahsoka.

He opened her door a crack, and a sliver of light fell on her face. She was quite pale, eyebrows furrowed, and she shivered. Anakin took a step inside and laid a hand on her forehead. He winced at the temperature. She shuddered, and he stole out of the room, returning with a medical booster and a wet washcloth. The washcloth he placed on her forehead, the pill he coaxed between her lips. She made a face in her sleep but did not wake, and slowly the shivering stopped. Anakin sighed, yawned hugely, pulled her blanket over her more securely and returned to his room.

In the morning, Ahsoka was worse. She couldn't hold down anything, not even water, and barely stayed conscious long enough to use the refresher. Padmé hunted through her medical book for a remedy, but Anakin sensed that something was off. This wasn't an ordinary illness. Something was going on with her connection to the Force.

After a lunch of leftovers and resetting Ahsoka's blankets, Anakin sank down beside her bed and into a meditation, looking as deep into his Padawan's mind as he dared.

It wasn't good.

Any sentient life-form's mind can be described as an ocean of thought, emotion and senses. Usually, a Jedi's ocean was calm, with small waves. When one was in extreme pain, emotional or physical, it would become stormy and the waves would rise.

Ahsoka's was more like a hurricane plus several small tsunamis.

He quickly emerged, at once frightened and utterly baffled. What on Lothal's moons could be affecting her this way?

"She's not doing well," he said quietly to Padme just outside Ahsoka's door. She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"You think?"

"No, I mean mentally. Something isn't right. Her conscience is...turbulent."

Padme frowned. "Well, what can we do?"

Anakin shook his head. "I don't know. For now, keep giving her boosters and water, I guess."

~

Ahsoka was restless. 

She felt like she was being torn apart from the inside.

Her mind thrashed, her head spun, her thoughts collided with one another, and she could straighten nothing out. 

Her physical form was another matter entirely: she could barely see, and couldn't stand longer than five seconds. She kept getting flashes of visions, things she couldn't explain or piece together. Leaves, shoes, a waterfall, a blaster.

Leaves, shoes, a waterfall, a blaster.

Leaves, shoes, a waterfall, a blaster.

Leaves, shoes, a waterfall, a blaster.

His boots went crunch-crunch-crunch on the dirt path, weaving between the trees, his jacket fluttered out behind him and he seemed truly happy. A shame. He did have a lovely face.

Too bad he was the son of a murderer.

He glanced back and looked at her, flashing her a grin before running up the path to the crest of the hill. He flung out his arms in the sunshine, and she could tell he was smiling. She reached the top as well, and there was a majestic sight if she'd ever seen one.

A huge waterfall cascaded down jagged cliffs and crashed down into a sparkling, crystal clear pool. She cracked a small smile.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" He said, tucking his hands back in his pockets. She nodded. "I come here when I need to think."

She paused. "Am I the only girl you've brought up here?" He looked at her, a devilish look dancing across his face.

"No." She frowned before he laughed, and turning back to the water, he said, "My sister used to follow me. She hated being indoors. Father could never keep her inside."

"Mmm."

"Something on your mind?"

Her heart palpitated. Was she really doing this?

"This is the only time we've really had space alone."

"And?"

"And so..." she reached inside her coat. "I'm sorry." 

In one swift movement, she whipped out her blaster and shot him straight through the head. 

He crumpled to the ground, that devil's gleam still in his eyes. She sighed and rolled his body down the hill, into the waterfall.

"I really am," she whispered before turning, shedding her coat and leaping up into the trees, darting away.

~

"What are we to do with her records, High Voice?"

"Dispose of any evidence that she was ever voiceless. Allow no one to know. Erase memories if you have to. Erase your own when you are finished."

"Yes, High Voice." The small man zipped his mouth shut, bowed, and left. The High Voice sighed, and turned to her collection of pictures on her wall. She lit a cigar and puffed on it while locating the girl's. She scowled when she found it, and stabbed the lit end into her face. The picture burned away, and she swept the small pile of ashes into her trash. 

She put out the cigar, sat down at her desk, and pressed the buzzer. The door slid open to reveal a small human boy, probably only sixteen, who was wringing his hands nervously. She smiled at him and beckoned with a long index finger. He stepped inside timidly.

"What is your name, my dear?"

"Cal."

"Well then, Cal, let's begin, shall we?"