Cruel Destiny | Kylo Ren

Draw Of The Unlucky

When Kylo stops his footing before the elevator doors that lead to Snoke's throne room, I give him a frightened look – Knowing what his stance meant. 

He tells me to not be afraid but I see in his body movements that his bones are tighter and aching to move into the elevator with me. The smile he gives in reassurance is shorter and the silence longer. Every muscle within me felt rigid, sprung for action and yet when the sliding doors close, there is nowhere to go, other than the harrowing and torturous throne where I will soon kneel before. 

My body screamed at me to punch my hands through the elevator shaft and find a way to sprint fast to somewhere else, to spend the energy that kept piling in regardless of my current inability to use it. Even my face felt tense, the growing tears in my eyes, not providing oil to my frozen cheeks that felt like metal, but rusting them instead.

I hoist my plaster casted arm up and cradle it in the silence like a frighten child would squeeze their favourite plush toy beneath the sheets, where behind the thin fabric, a monster drools – But my sheets where only thick metal that opened quickly before me with a low, sneering hum, and my monster was instead, The Supreme Leader who lounged on his throne like a devil who stood on his victims, lifeless bodies. 

When his pale, vicious eyes meet mine in the distance, like a beacon to an already burnt and dying moth, I swallow my nerves and force my stance to straighten, mimicking General Hux, who stood undeviating with his hands clasped behind his back, to the side of the throne. 

The Supreme Leader growls and masks it with an evil smile, "Six." He greeted me like he always would, no formal warning for what was to come, but instead directing me into it with the call of my name.

My feet tap against the glossy floors and in their surface, the distance that lessens between the cruel leader and I, laugh at me for I could be following the invisible path to my death, for all I know.

I kneel before him, watching only the reflection of him in the black, shiny floors.

"Embrace your destiny." I squawk.

I watch him smirk at the crown of my head, his own metaphorical coronet, sitting heavily above his demanding eyes and torn skin. 

His royalty is sober in the face of his favourite challenger, but I only ever flinch beneath the stare. In the times the leader and I had spoken, the words were only ever soaked in pain with the actions that were brutal in their fallout. Upon the made-up throne, a fake royal carries the heavy weight that such privilege brings of pushing around the weaker subjects for more power or simply, entertainment.

"With open arms and welcoming." He finishes, each syllable sounding foreign on his silver tongue – Which it shouldn't, for he had made the damn phrase up in another way to conform us into his unbalanced system. 

I glance up to the ruler and narrow my eyes, locking my armoured heart up and clenching my fists for the blows to come. "You requested me?"

The blue rolls into white and he slumps into his chair, his long fingernails curling into his palms as he leans them on the armrests. "Let's get to the chase, I'm sick of pretending we are civil."

His words were like a knife in my ribs, the sharp point digging deeper into the fear but I only tense my muscles in the stabbing, staring at the man on the throne. "Then get to the point." I grit through my teeth. 

I am kneeling where Four's lifeless body once laid, and from the way his eyes darkened and his mouth snarled, pulling at the stretched thin skin of his face: I assumed I was already in the perfect position for what was to become of me too.

The impossibly cold tile, feels warm beneath my knees, as if Four's washed away, blood was heating up my own. I bite my bottom lip to suppress my nervous breathing, eyes everywhere but his, which I could feel burning the apples of my cheeks – Matching the crimson guards, who stood unmoving around him.