That won't happen to you

Chapter 15

Amazingly, no one punished her for what she had done.

She dimly remembered 'before'. She had grown up as a slave. Always obedient and submissive.

But something about it felt wrong.

If she had always been a good girl, why did she feel such fire in her now.

Why didn't it show up in her memory, but it felt like it had always been there.

They tried to make her forget the fire, she was sure of that. Maybe she had forgotten it before and now it came out again?

She did not know.

She just sat on the cold metal thing they called a bed. It reminded her more of chains. Chains and, for some reason, pain.

Someone came along and put food on the beds.

Well, it's not worth to call it food, but it's better than nothing.

It was a little corner of rock hard bread and a glass of water.

Then she heard a thud and the desperate cries of a child.

She looked down, saw blurred as an older child stole the food from the small child lying on the bed under Ahsokas.

"please... give it back," the child sobbed.

But he couldn't get his food back.

Ahsoka sighed briefly, then handed her food down to the hungry child.

"Thank you," he said and ate up the bread quickly before anyone else could take it away again.

Now, Ahsoka's stomach growled.

She rolled around a bit, hoping to fall asleep, but it didn't work. On the contrary, now her hip hurt as well because she had come hard against the 'bed'.

But there was a strange feeling.

She felt for it, but instead of her skin she felt bread under her clothes.

Not the hard, but the soft. Fresh.

It smelled delicious and she took a bite. It was like heaven.

However it got there. Whoever was responsible for making it be there, Ahsoka thanked this Person so much.

"Together" she heard a voice in her head.

She took another bite, trying to ignore the voice so she could enjoy the bread in peace.

But "together" again.

Of course, nobody really said it. It was only in her head.

She packed away the few remains of the bread and concentrated on it.

The voice became clearer. She knew that voice.

The young Togruta's head was already aching from mental strain, but she did not give up. There was something. Something she had to know.

She remembered chains.

She had been chained to a table.

"Too bad you won't remember your guts."

She had dropped anchor. Memory anchor.

The bread.

The metal.

Her name.

But as she continued to concentrate, images came into her head that seemed so strange.

Her in a slave market at six years old.

Her working for someone who held a whip.

Her being separated from her mother when she was a toddler. What were those memorys?