[Hollow. Empty. All that's left when the rage has settled down and turned to dying, ashen embers. His shoulders still, the tears stop; alone with his own misery, there's no one else to blame for all the mistakes of the past, and it is a quiet calm-- not a tense one-- that's overtaken the space around them. He keeps his eyes on the twisted wreckage before him, breathes in, out.
The hands at his shoulders are warm. False or not, it's a different sort of existence that denies simple logic aside from the manipulations of his own mind or even the Force itself (which was often capable of splitting everything dwelling within its grasp). He can't run from it, there is nowhere left to run.
Ben Solo is right.
Which is why his hand darts for the hilt at his side when he finally turns, saber flaring to life and hissing with violent rage, spitting red sparks in its wake as it's brought down across his reflection's torso. A broad, livid stroke meant to wound whatever shadow thinks itself capable of touching him. If it wants to be real, then let it be real. Let it hurt, let it suffer...
And it'll die all over again, just as it did before.]
no subject
[Hollow. Empty. All that's left when the rage has settled down and turned to dying, ashen embers. His shoulders still, the tears stop; alone with his own misery, there's no one else to blame for all the mistakes of the past, and it is a quiet calm-- not a tense one-- that's overtaken the space around them. He keeps his eyes on the twisted wreckage before him, breathes in, out.
The hands at his shoulders are warm. False or not, it's a different sort of existence that denies simple logic aside from the manipulations of his own mind or even the Force itself (which was often capable of splitting everything dwelling within its grasp). He can't run from it, there is nowhere left to run.
Ben Solo is right.
Which is why his hand darts for the hilt at his side when he finally turns, saber flaring to life and hissing with violent rage, spitting red sparks in its wake as it's brought down across his reflection's torso. A broad, livid stroke meant to wound whatever shadow thinks itself capable of touching him. If it wants to be real, then let it be real. Let it hurt, let it suffer...
And it'll die all over again, just as it did before.]