Vignettes of the Past

3609 BBY

Years had passed, and Varulla’aba had changed much. She’d grown into her body now, and what had once been scrawny and awkward was now slim and graceful. Perhaps in another life the young men would have looked at her admiringly, but in the Jedi Order it went without comment, and as a result went unnoticed by the Twi’lek herself. For some reason her own eyes seemed to lie as well. She lacked a mirror, and whenever she caught a glimpse of herself reflected in a pane of glass or pool of water she half-assumed it was some wishful distortion. Internally she felt the same.

She was grateful though, she’d been saved humiliation by being selected as a Padawan. But her master was… different. She’d always expected her master to be a mentor, friend, and father at the same time. Instead she’d gotten an associate or advisor at best. Outside of training sessions or missions they’d barely shared a word. Vreen Nedar hadn’t asked many questions about her, and based off of his own statements it was clear he hadn’t bothered to learn on his own either. Var stifled her resentment. She was lucky to have a master at all, and delving further into those feelings wouldn’t be productive. With a deep breath, she brought herself back to the present.

“Very well, it is my judgment that both parties are at fault. You will both rebuild the fence and replant the crops. Then you will split whatever you make from the field for one year.” Nedar decreed authoritatively. He’d agreed to take on the mediation of a dispute, ostensibly as a lesson on authority to his Padawan. It was entirely possible though that he simply enjoyed it.

The Jedi rose from his seat and exited the double doors of the small courthouse, with Var closely behind. They were in a rural town on Toprawa, why exactly Ullaaba didn’t know. Something about reassuring the locals or investigating something, she couldn’t tell which and Nedar never told her anything. Whenever she asked he would always look down at her with a look of superiority that really twisted her lekku. It wasn’t that she doubted his superiority, she knew full well that her own skills were laughable in comparison. It was just the way he did it. With a sigh the Padawan closed the doors Nedar had left open.

“I hope you were paying attention instead of daydreaming again Var. I can only teach you if you make the effort to learn.”

“Yes master.” Var responded curtly. She’d learned providing any further response would simply earn her a look. Even though she was an adult in the fullest sense of the word, Nedar treated her exactly the same as he had five years ago. Five years of being treated like a child were wearing on her patience, yet the Twi’lek knew she couldn’t allow it to get to her. In four years she could become a Knight. And if they let in Vreen Nedar then they’d let in anyone. She snickered at the thought, quickly wiping the lop-sided smile off her face as Nedar stared.

“Is something amusing?”

“Not at all Master,” she lied.

“Then I suggest we get back to business. We’re expected on Coruscant next month, and we’ve been tasked with making a pair of good will appearances…” Nedar listed the schedule and duties that Var couldn’t have cared less about as if they were sacred principles like the Jedi Code itself. For the Twi’lek, schedules and structure were meant as guidelines more than rules. They inhibited her greatly, and some sort of obligation or responsibility always seemed to be in the way. And Nedar loved to add more into the mix.

Var buried her complaints and nodded politely. As always, she did what was expected of her.

She remained absent-minded all the way back to the Capital City and their reasonably comfortable accommodations. She’d meditate as best as she could, though she was unlikely to have much success with Vreen Nedar breathing down her neck. It took practice to make perfect, but with Nedar perfection was expected every time. His standards were so high they were almost unreachable, and everything the Padawan did fell short. Everything. And under that kind of pressure practicing was an uphill battle. Frankly, she did so much better on her own that it was a major relief when the Jedi announced his intention to leave for the night. Var was so relieved she didn’t bother asking why, though she wouldn’t have been likely to get answers anyway.

She fell onto the bed gratefully, thanking the Force she’d have some peace for a few hours. No sooner had she embraced the silence than a chime politely violated it. At first the Twi’lek ignored it, hoping it would go away of its own volition. When it became clear the chiming wouldn’t stop, she rose from the bed and walked over to the console. “Yes?” She curtly queried as she accepted the incoming call.

A familiar face appeared on the screen and immediately Var’s face lit up. “Jarvik!” She exclaimed joyfully. “I thought you were still on assignment!”

“I was, but I just got back to Coruscant a few hours ago. They said you were on Toprawa, and I thought it was worth a few minutes to see if I couldn’t say hi. So, how are you doing Var?” Jarvik asked cheerfully.

“Much better now, thanks.”

“Nedar been riding you hard?” Jarvik took a guess, and upon seeing his friend nod he smiled thinly. “Yeah, I figured he was. Don’t worry though, in a few years you’ll be a Knight and he’ll be out of your hair. Well, figurative hair.” He amended, looking at Var’s head tails.

“I’m glad you called Jarvik. This trip was a lot tougher than I’d thought. I don’t know whether its worse when Master Nedar ignores me or actually talks with me. No, to me. If he talked WITH me then maybe we’d get along.” The Twi’lek sighed, running a hand absent-mindedly over her lekku. “Maybe he just sees that I’m not important enough to bother with.”

“No, no, no. Don’t sell yourself short Var, you’re a great person with a lot to offer. If he won’t take the time to know you its his loss.”

Varulla’aba avoided eye contact and switched the topic hurriedly. Whenever the topic switched to compliments she had a tendency to shut down. “How is Master Tarkana? Is she still taking you all over the Galaxy on those adventures?”

Jarvik smiled back. “Yeah, she is. Every other month it seems we’re recovering some sort of holocron or artifact. You know history was never my strong spot though. Strange they’d have a future-Guardian training under a Consular, but maybe they just want to round out my training. You give any thought to your own specialization? I still think you’d make a great Sentinel.”

The Twi’lek blushed slightly. “You’re flattering me… I don’t think I really have the talent for any of the specializations. I’m a fair swordsman, but no Guardian. And I can use the force basically, but I’m hardly a master at it.”

“That’s why you’re a perfect Sentinel Var, you have practical skills and you know a bit about everything. You’re the full package. Anyone should be able to see that.” He looked off to the side on the monitor before looking back at his friend. Var’s normally cream-colored cheeks were definitely scarlet now. “I’ve got to go now, but don’t let that crusty old goat get you down. You’ll do fine in spite of him.”

The screen flickered out and left the Twi’lek Padawan feeling much more hopeful than she had been merely an hour ago. Yes, there was hope. And even if no one else believed in her, she could always rely on Jarvik. Always.

3622 BBY
Anchorhead, Tatooine

The wind was harsh, and the sand it kicked up was biting. It stung when it hit exposed skin, and it always seemed to be fighting its way into lungs and eyes, forcing each person into a battle against nature to make it to shelter. For the lucky ones, they had their hands free to cover the mouths and shelter their eyes.

For the unlucky ones no hands were free. Sand stung eyes freely, and lungs burned with wracking coughs. The very embodiment of that gross lack of luck was a small girl, struggling under the weight of a large box filled with trivial items. Pots, pans, bits of scrap, various items of technology, and anything that could be called flotsam or jetsam. Certainly it was nothing worth braving the howling winds and near total lack of visibility for. Even in the streets of Anchorhead, sand storms couldn’t be taken lightly. Lungs filled by sand in a street were as lethal as ones filled in the Dune Sea. The little Twi’lek girl was taking her life into her hands as she staggered down the narrow street .

Her tiny cream-colored hands were white at the joints where she gripped the heavy box, and every few steps she bowed against the wind and coughed. She sheltered her face behind the box, but her eyes still stung. Her destination was near now though. And safety with it. Or what passed for safety.

She set the box down and opened the door, bending over again to lift the box with all the strength she could muster. She tottered in to the shop, her reserves of strength finally exhausted. She almost dropped the heavy box on the floor in her last effort to place it on the tall counter almost even with her head. With that done, she leaned against the wall catching her breath.

“What’s wrong with you girl? You’re letting sand into the shop. Close that door.”

The voice wasn’t ‘scary,’ but its impact on the Twi’lek child was staggering. Her eyes widened and she raced over to the door and closed it.

“Come here.” The voice commanded, and as if clutched by an invisible grip the little girl did. Step by hesitant step she came closer, reeled in against her will. Her broken will. She couldn’t refuse.

As she stopped in front of the voice, just out of arm’s reach, the voice became a figure. It was a human man, looming overhead. Whether because of actual height or merely as a comparison in size to the child, he seemed to even blot out the light coming from the few lamps in the room. His face was rough and lined, and his eyes were hard. “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry master…”

The man glowered as his rough and cracked voice spoke condemnations again. “You will be.”

Varulla’aba closed her eyes, trying to suppress the tears coming in advance. She knew what would happen. What always happened. When the fist hit her in the side of the face, she fell to the ground keenly aware of what was happening, but aching to be numb. To just let it all pass by without feeling, without emotion. But she couldn’t, she just couldn’t. The tears were flowing now, streaking from her closed eyes down her cheeks.

The all-too common agenda continued. Var pulled her lekku down her front and held them close, trying to ward off the worst pain. The whip cracked down on her back and she winced. She winced and she cried in total silence. She’d learned the drill of all this, the routine. Pleas for mercy were always rejected, and cries of pain were just music to the master’s ears. The only thing he loved more than having a slave to do the chores was to beat her. What cruelty inspired him to do it was unknown. Perhaps he was channeling his own frustrations out onto another, or maybe he was just evil at heart. But either way, with the flick of his wrist he fiendishly rained down blows into the girl’s back.

The whip cut into her skin, leaving its marks on top of others. The souvenirs of her slavery. Her possessions, ones that could never be taken away, forgotten, or undone.

He finally finished when his arm was sore, leaving bloody welts Var’s back. Without another word he went to his room upstairs and left the child alone.

Now she sobbed aloud. Her cries were that of utter dejection, the mournful sounds of someone with literally nothing to hold on to, and with no hope ahead. The cries that wished for death, just to end the ache. But they didn’t last, they couldn’t last. Var simply didn’t have the strength to cry that way. It was everything she could do just to crawl across the room to the pile of rags in the corner that served as her bed. She ran a hand across her back, feeling the tender welts and the warmth of her own blood. They were the same welts that had almost healed from the last beating with a whip. The abuse had torn them open again, staining the tiny rags she wore crimson.

Somehow, some way, the Twi’lek dressed the wounds. She bandaged them as best as she could and then laid down on her stomach in the tiny bed. Her eyes closed, and she fell into a pained sleep full of dreams. Dreams of everything she’d never had, and could never have. Family. Friends. Love. They were all phantoms that came only at night, and when the bright light of day was raised they vanished. This was reality, this was life. Pain, loneliness, and utter dejection. Nothing more. Maybe for others, but not for Var. Never for Var.

3621 BBY
Anchorhead, Tatooine

It was the beginning of the week for everyone in Anchorhead. That meant many things to many people, but one of the local traditions was cleaning. The blowing sand had a tendency to get everywhere, and it had to be routinely brushed off of walls where it had caked on, and it had to be swept out of doorways and shops.

Quite unsurprisingly, at the shop of Tolrin Yegel the task of cleaning fell to Varulla’aba. The Twi’lek slave girl found herself responsible for every bit of cooking and cleaning, and quite perversely for every kind of failure imaginable. She’d given up on trying to please her master the very first year she’d been sold to him. His standards were unreachable, and even if he was satisfied in one area there was always another excuse to beat her. She’d given up hoping that she’d ever be told ‘well done,’ ‘good job,’ or ‘thank you.’ It was more likely some heroic stranger would drop out of the sky and carry her away to a better life.

The child pushed a broom much too large for her, sweeping out the dust and sand from the shop. She moved at a calculated pace, one that was slow enough to not tax her, but also fast enough to avoid the wrath of her master if he should suddenly decide to start watching her. Depending on his mood, Var could either be totally ignored or watched like a hawk. Ironically, she found having her very existence ignored was vastly superior. At least that way she’d be spared a beating.

Today was one of those days. Her master was sleeping well into the day, sleeping off the past night’s drinking binge. Surprisingly she’d managed to dodge his drunken anger. Despite being skin and bones, the Twi’lek was surprisingly nimble. But she knew if he woke up sober and found a messy shop… It wouldn’t be good for her at all.

She reached the door, brushing the accumulated sand out into the street and pausing to look up at the blue sky. It was incredibly hard for her to imagine there were other worlds out there. She knew there were of course, after all she’d come from one. The memory was hazy for her though. She’d run away from something on Ryloth, and hidden on a ship. It was dark and cold there, and she’d slipped into blackness herself. When she woke up, she’d been on Tatooine. That was literally all she remembered.

She lapsed into a daydream, one of her few escapes from the harsh life she was resigned to. The child dreamed she was flying, up into the blue of the sky, going ever higher and higher up into the blackness of space. It was peaceful there, and quiet. Her soul felt rested and calm. She focused on the dream for what seemed like an eternity, and was brought back to reality only when a fist impacted on her cheek and knocked her to the ground with an involuntary whimper.

“Don’t just stand there you lazy little b*tch, get back to work.”

“Yes master…”

Varulla’aba rose to her feet again and started to continue sweeping, painfully aware that she was now being watched like a hawk and that the slightest mistake she made would be met with another fist to the face.

She spent the rest of the day scrubbing the floors and walls, still being watched. Only after she prepared and served dinner did she have time to herself, eating the leftovers from a wooden bowl while sitting on the floor. Even though her physical movements were slow, her mind was working quickly. Staring up at the sky had awoken her brave inner self, and she wasn’t content with this life. Var made up her little mind to try something she’d only ever attempted once before, something that had earned her the most vicious beating she’d ever experienced. Escape.

The Twi’lek girl threw together a plan hurriedly. Once her master went to sleep, she’d slip out through the door. She’d figured out how to bypass the lock already, though she’d been too afraid to actually do it. Then she’d head straight for the spaceport to see if she could sneak onto a freighter. She’d done it once before when she was much younger, so it stood to reason that it would be easier now.

She finished her meager meal, then returned to clear the table. All the ordinary steps of her evening routine were completed. Everything was clean, orderly, and perfectly normal. The only sign she was nervous about her plan was a slight tremor in her hands, one that could be dismissed as fear for a dozen reasons, as well as fatigue or hunger.
At last, the master went to bed and Var was left alone. She curled up into a small cream-colored ball on the pile of rags that served as her bed and laid still, eyes wide open as she waited for the time to make her escape. Her stomach was a tight ball, and the prospect of freedom excited her. But she was also terrified by the risks of failure, even though she knew it could be no worse than what she already had endured. And what she likely would endure eventually.

The slave rose to her feet and quietly padded over to the large, metal door. It dwarfed her, and in the darkness of the room it was difficult to see the lock mechanism. Her tiny fingers traced it, and she applied pressure in the way she knew was needed. It worked, and with the slightest clunk the door cracked open. Var shoved at the heavy door with all her might, expanding the crack until she could squeeze through it. The starlight was showing now, providing a small amount of encouragement to the girl as she started to slide between the door and the frame.

A large hand grabbed her by the lekku and brutally yanked her back from freedom; back into the darkness. With an expression of incredible pain emblazoned her face, Varulla’aba staggered and fell to the floor of the shop, unable to even cry out. She bit her lip instead, so hard it drew blood. It dribbled down her chin even as involuntary tears trickled from her large eyes, staining her face.

She could still see the stars through the gap in the door as the whip lashed into her back, tearing through her flesh. With each fresh blow, she realized just how far away they really were.

3621 BBY
Anchorhead, Tatooine

Var stood in the kitchen of the combination shop and home, waiting as the water boiled on the stove. She’d become used to cooking and cleaning, even before she could reach the surface of the stove. She still had to find something tall to stand on in order to carry out the chore of making tea, but it was one of the things she’d grown more accustomed to. She rarely made mistakes now, in the past each slight failure in the delivery of tea had cost her a beating. Now it was the only task that she could be assured of not getting beaten for.

She poured the water over the leaves and watched as the liquid started to darken. Once it had steeped long enough, she would add sugar to just the right balance. And then would be the token quiet moment of the day. All across the city, everything ground to a halt just after noon. It was then that the heat peaked, and everyone sought midday shelter in the coolness of their homes. Silence, stillness, and relative calm always ruled then. And Varulla’aba could live without fear for an hour. By the time the doors to the shop reopened there was a chance she’d be hurt somehow for a failure or some problem her master had run into. But she lived for that one blissful hour.

She’d sit on her bed of rags in the shop, and maybe covertly play with some used toy from the inventory while the master rested. She’d cherish it, and then she’d let it go again. She’d see some other child’s doting parent purchase it, and it only reminded her of what she lacked for herself. A home. A family. Love.

When the tea finished, she placed it onto a tray and carried it out to the living space. The only time she was ever allowed onto the upper floor was to cook and to clean, and seeing the comforts of an ordinary home was always… unusual for her. Clean walls. Furniture. A bed.

She approached softly and set the tea at the table next to her master’s chair. As she turned to go, his hand caught her around the arm. She looked at him and was incredibly confused. There was something new there in his expression, something she wasn’t sure what was. And that worried her.

“You’ve grown up a lot since I bought you.” The human commented, not paying attention to the tea. “Yes, you sure have… You’re even a little woman now.” A slight glint came into his eye, and Var wasn’t sure whether to run or remain dutifully obedient. Torn between sentiments, she remained in his iron grip without resistance. She didn’t know what was about to happen. She couldn’t have. For years she barely remembered anything else. Not the tea forgotten by the chair, not the time of day, not the date itself, not how she had felt, not what she had been doing.

She remembered the awful realization that came far too late, only when she saw him unfastening his pants. And then it was too late. Her frantic struggle to escape was thwarted. She was weak, too weak. Only a child, helpless to protect herself.

Up until that day she’d had an old soul yes, but her mournful green eyes had maintained something she’d been convinced could never be taken away: her innocence. She was wrong. It was ripped from her that day, never to return. Her eyes remained mournful, but now they contained shame as well.

Humiliation. Helplessness. All of the dozens of feelings that had raced inside her at that moment were blended together in the most horrifying experience she had ever had, and would ever have. She screamed out inside, straining to break free. But the iron grip held her still and covered her mouth. Her muffled cries never reached beyond the thick walls of the building, and the whole galaxy remained ignorant of what was happening. It lasted for an eternity, and the little girl tried to cope. Her world ceased to exist, and her mind left her body. She could feel what was happening, but was only distantly aware of it. The Twi’lek closed her eyes and went numb. She stopped resisting and realized the only way out was through, the best she could hope for was not feeling it.

At last it was over. But the cost to Var’s soul had been astronomical. For the first hour she sat quietly in the corner, in denial over what had just happened. What couldn’t have happened, what shouldn’t have happened. What did happen. What would happen again.

She couldn’t deny it. She knew fully what had just happened. She hadn’t imagined the violation, and she couldn’t make it go away. But she couldn’t live to face that again. She’d have taken a dozen beatings instead, even being whipped to the bone would have been better. Even the numbness of death. Life wasn’t worth living if she had to face that again. Anything at all would be better.

She rose from her tiny bed of rags and shivered in revulsion. She knew for the rest of her life she’d never feel clean again. The girl knew she was ’damaged’ now. She cried softly as she started to rummage through the store. She’d seen the object earlier, in some day gone by. And it could be her salvation. Her escape. The Twi’lek girl lifted aside a pan, and there it was. A cruel looking dagger the size of her small arm. It felt like a sword in her hand.

To the mind of the child her master was invincible and immortal. But she wasn’t. She could fall onto the blade and make sure no one could hurt her ever again. She held the tip against her small, heaving chest. Var could feel the cold, metallic point digging into her skin. All she had to do was lean onto it.

Just a little pressure, the weight of her frail body alone would push her down on top of the blade. It would pierce her heart, and everything would be over.

And with just the slightest bit more determination, her life would have ended that day. But something, some primal instinct stopped her short. Varulla’aba lowered her escape down to the table and sobbed. Tears flowed freely, staining the counter she laid her head on. There was nothing she could do. To her mind, everything was exhausted. She’d been unable to resist, and unable to take her life. The world was over and the walls were closing in around her.

But from somewhere deep inside her, the voice that helped her survive emerged. It told her of options she couldn’t see, things she couldn’t see, and opportunities she didn’t know. It told her to run.

“No, I can’t. I’m too weak, they’ll catch me and master will hurt me…”
No, you can. You must. If you don’t run it will happen again tomorrow. And each day afterwards. Its now or never.

Var closed her eyes and leapt, without any planning and trusting to fate. Her bare feet led her out the door of the shop and into the afternoon heat. It was just the time to start reopening the shop anyway, hopefully the sound of the door would be taken as normal and buy her a few extra minutes. The streets were filling up fast now, and she could try to lose herself in the crowd.

A shout came from behind her and without even looking the little girl could tell her disappearance had been noticed. She started to sprint, weaving through the crowd. But her malnutrition was taking its toll. The master was catching up, shoving through the crowd.

Var felt the panic rising up in her, and did the only thing she could. She ducked behind the leg of the nearest person and looked up at him with wide eyes. “Help me.” She pleaded, knowing full well her fate was in the hands of a stranger.

Her master shoved his way through the last of the crowd and into the small clearing the commotion had caused. “There you are!” He accused, spotting Var looking very small clinging to the stranger’s leg. He turned his gaze to the stranger in a billowing robe and addressed him. “All right, I get the idea. Maybe she ran to you and tried to feed you some lying story about how I touched her or something. Maybe you even bought it. But you shouldn’t. She’s a lying little wh*re, and she’s my property. So hand her over now and I’ll forget you were ever here.”

The stranger lowered his hood, revealing steely grey eyes and neatly sculpted beard. He seemed supremely at peace, but something in him was fiery. “No. I won’t simply step aside.”

Var’s master pulled a blaster from his side. “Aiding a fugitive slave is a crime. And if you’re killed in the commission of a crime I’m not liable.”

The stranger pulled a cylindrical item from his belt, and with a snap and hiss it spat forth a blade of blue light that was instantly recognizable to anyone in the galaxy. It was a lightsaber, and Var Ullaaba’s savior was a Jedi. With an immense joy in her large green eyes she looked up at him and knew her life was saved.

She wasn’t afraid any more.
The now-former master almost dropped the blaster in surprise. “Look, I don’t want a problem with a Jedi. But this isn’t the Republic, this is Hutt Space and you have no jurisdiction. That girl is my property, and I demand her back.”

The Jedi shook his head. “You’re in no position to make demands. And I won’t let you hurt this little girl any more. Go ahead and attack, it will give me an excuse to end your life. And if I remember Hutt law correctly, your slave would belong to me.”

Var’s master quivered in impotent rage, stumbling over some words before spitting at the Jedi and heading back the way he’d come. No sooner had he gone and the Jedi deactivated his lightsaber than the Twi’lek girl hugged him with a surprising strength. She was saved, and she was free.

And most of all, she knew what she wanted to do with her life. What she wanted to be: a Jedi.

Six Hours Later

Var was sleeping peacefully now. The little Twi’lek child had fallen asleep, laying her head on her rescuer’s lap. Eventually the Jedi had been forced to pick up the newly-freed slave and tuck her into the proper bunk. He’d been worried about waking her, but his fears were misplaced. The girl’s face had a smile imprinted on it, something she hadn’t done since before she could remember.

But her body was a monument to suffering. Though Var’s savior was no healer, he could see the marks cruelty had left upon her. Her cream-colored skin was dotted with bruises, in particular her lekku. She was all bones wrapped up in skin, painfully scrawny. The slightest glance at her both made him want to cry and made him furious. When she’d put on new clothes he’d provided, his eyes had noticed the lashes on her back. Some were relatively fresh, but all across her back was scarring. The token lighter, almost white, lines imprinted on her flesh.

This girl’s life had been a living hell. And that the reason he’d taken her. Truthfully, her force sensitivity was much less than some of the other prospective younglings he’d seen. Yes, she would still be able to enter the Order. But if he’d encountered her as a simple, happy child he never would have taken her. But leaving her behind was worse than a death sentence.

He couldn’t tell if she’d ever grow up to have a normal and happy life. It was certain she’d never be a happy child. She’d grown up prematurely with the kind of misery no child should ever face. And the only thing the Jedi could ask himself now was why. Why had this happened to her? What had possessed her master to do these things? The Jedi had fought servants of the Dark Side who would have recoiled in disgust at the things done to this child.

Certainly she was stronger than she looked though. He’d been almost afraid to pick her up and tuck her into bed, as if he could break her by accident like she was a baby bird fallen from the nest. Only she’d survived. She’d survived everything life had thrown at her, anything life could throw at her. And seemingly her spirit hadn’t quite been broken. If it had, she wouldn’t have run. And that too was an act of the Force. It guided her to him through the crowd. It was destiny, he was sure of it. Whether for good or ill, she would become a Jedi. He would see to that.

Ever so gently he kissed Var on the forehead, then straightened and headed back out to the main cabin of the freighter he’d arranged passage on. Next stop, Coruscant.

Twenty Years Later

Guilt gnawed at the edges of Var Ullaaba’s mind, as it had off and on ever since she fell to the Dark Side. It was her conscience. She’d never been able to exorcise all the moral principles she’d learned. Most of them had simply been warped. Justice into revenge was a notable example. A few she even possessed love/hate relationships with. Loyalty for example. She was loyal to her new Master, and it was a source of pride. She knew one day though that it would fall to her to strike him down and take her place. It was the way of the Sith, but she couldn’t tell if it was her way.

She’d been the victim of betrayal yes, but she’d never personally betrayed anyone. It merely felt that way. She’d betrayed the Order, but she’d also betrayed the expectations and the generosity of the one figure who would always be enshrined in her memory. The unknown Jedi who had been her savior.

She’d never learned his name, or what became of him. He simply came into her life, changed it completely, and left. And perhaps that was for the best. She knew her choice would have broken his heart. After all, who could imagine the tiny little Twi’lek girl clinging to his leg two decades ago wielding a red lightsaber and filled with the Dark Side? Of course that was assuming he even remembered her. Or was still alive.

She was probably forgotten. Nedar had never cared enough about her to worry much, in fact he was probably just glad to have the chance to take a new Padawan. A better one. Some little prodigy maybe, who’d hang adoringly on his every word and never make a single mistake. And the smug bastard would love it.

Varulla’aba was a failure on Nedar’s path to glory, a missed step. And to him, to anyone in the Order most likely, her only purpose was to be an example of what not to do. Maybe a mention briefly once, ‘a pair of Padawans fell to the Dark Side together, showing why you should always have friendship second to your principles.’ Maybe even the more illustrious, ‘Master Nedar’s last apprentice fell to the dark side, so you should have patience.’

She had no standing or worth on her own as a person. Only as a lesson.

The Twi’lek sighed deeply and brought her mind back to the present. She was tired, yes. And when she was tired her mind tended to stray toward those thoughts. The past. Despite all her best efforts, she fixated on the worst. It lured her in irresistibly with a siren song she couldn’t fend off. She’d learned to yield to it, but not linger.

So she moved on. Like she always did, running from the parts of her past that she couldn’t simply avoid thinking about.

3620 BBY
Jedi Temple, Coruscant

Varulla’aba sat quietly in the corner of her Youngling Clan’s instruction room, leaning against the wall. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was avoiding eye contact. She was visibly embarrassed, and not for the first or last time. She’d been placed into the Clan because it fit her age. The others had all been together for two years already, and the cream-colored Twi’lek was a new addition, thrust in because she was too old to join a new clan. She’d been there for a week now, and still wasn’t fitting in.

As a Rodian Youngling read an excerpt aloud from his datapad, the instructor came quietly over to Var and kneeled by her side. She was a Tholothian, a short one with a gentle manner and kind face. But to the eyes of certain misfit Youngling, she was a tall and stern figure with a rather scary headdress.

“What’s the matter Var? You aren’t reading along with the others.”

“I- I…” The Twi’lek lowered her voice to something just barely a whisper. “I don’t know how.”

The instructor’s eyebrows raised. She’d made the mistake of making assumptions about the newcomer to their Clan. It wasn’t that she was insensitive or callous, its that she was ignorant of the little girl. No one had provided her with the correct information.

The Tholothian had always been deemed as ‘too soft’ by the others in the Order, and her sheltered time as a Youngling had been responsible for her place in the Education Corps. She was too sensitive, too tender, and too caring for work in the field. Her experience with a lightsaber didn’t extend beyond teaching the basics of Shii Cho, and the idea of her ever using it in combat was laughable.

It was that sensitivity that had prevented the other Jedi from informing her of Var’s past.

“Do you mean you can’t read well sweetheart? Because we can help you catch up a little.”

“No,” Var shook her head, “I don’t know how to read.” Her face was a bright crimson now, and she was mindful of the eyes looking at each other. “Can I talk to the one who brought me here?” She asked hopefully.

“No, he left to go find other little girls and boys like you.” The instructor was conflicted. She’d never actually had a Youngling who couldn’t read before. There were provisions for teaching them of course, but it meant sending her back by years. And that would humiliate the poor thing.

Var’s vivid green eyes stared up dismally at the woman, pleading for any sort of help. They were sad, possibly the saddest things the instructor had ever seen. The Tholothian’s maternal instincts were awoken, and she was resolved to do something for the Twi’lek girl. She couldn’t just let her suffer.

She gently rubbed Var’s back, wondering what it was she could feel under the thin shirt the girl was wearing, it felt almost like some kind of scarring. But that wasn't possible, she was just a little girl. No matter though. “Everything will be fine, I’ll take care of things.”

The Twi’lek Youngling nodded, but her eyes were looking away entirely. The instructor followed them with her own, and saw nothing but the blue sky outside the window. Vaguely she wondered if there was anything special about the sky to the little girl before her.

Probably not.

3608 BBY
Chandrila

Var followed behind Nedar, not closely but not far. She didn’t want to arouse his suspicions until it was too late for him to stop her. She’d learned secrecy, and how to exploit his weaknesses. Her master was a horrible telepath and not very perceptive. She was a piece of décor or furniture to him, an unquestioning presence. Her loyalty was never in question in his eyes. He also saw her as borderline incompetent. It was a simple matter to manipulate him. The Twi’lek had been doing it for years, only now she was actually gaining something meaningful.

“Master Nedar, I forgot I left my lightsaber in the conference room.” The touch of false embarrassment in her voice combined with a perfectly realistic bit of the idiocy Nedar expected to paint a convincing false picture.

“Go back and get it, I’ll meet you at our quarters. If you can remember how to get there.” Nedar said rather flatly.

“Yes master,” Var said for the last time. A predatory smile almost crept onto her face as she relished the prospect of an end to their relationship as master and apprentice. Jarvik had been right. It was a new beginning, a fresh start. The Dark Side, the Light Side… what did it matter? Now Varulla’aba could serve Varulla’aba. No qualms about what the Jedi way was, or what the Code said, or what Nedar told her, or any of the hundreds of rules and maxims they’d bothered her over for years.

She followed him with her green, calculating eyes. When she was satisfied he was truly gone, she produced her lightsaber from where it had been concealed under her robe and reattached it to her belt.

The Twi’lek sized up her surroundings and took a good look around the busy square. The transports were down the street to her left by a few blocks. From there she could make it to the spaceport, and then with a little persuasion, a disguise, some credits, some seduction, and a sob story would get her off the planet and onto Corulag. There she’d meet with Jarvik, and he’d deliver on his promise.

His promise to take her to join a secretive enclave of Dark Jedi. To learn the ways of the Dark Side side by side as friends.

She didn’t know exactly how it was her best, and now only, friend had found the enclave. But he knew of its existence, and even its location. It was something he’d kept secret from Master Tarkana, and that meant Var had no chance of discovering where it was without his help.

Vaguely she wondered if the time arranged to meet on Corulag would come and go; if she’d be abandoned and left behind. Dismissed as spare baggage? Or forgotten?

Neither was the case. Her plan went perfectly and without a single flaw. By the time Nedar started to worry that his stupid Padawan had been injured, she was long gone. By the time he even began to think that Var had deliberately left, she was on Gyndine, accepted into a secret Dark Jedi enclave.

When Nedar made it back to Coruscant, he found a message his Padawan had left for him. One she simply couldn’t resist. A note explaining exactly how he had failed her over the years, and every reason she was now joining the Dark Side. It was all summed up in two words. You fail.

That was when Var began to show her caustic and biting wit, and realized how much she enjoyed insulting and demeaning others. It was liberating. And it was proof that she was winning for once.

And most of all, it distracted her from who she was. It was strength to compensate for her weakness. It was liberation. She loved it.