There are few stories that are told among the Jedi Order long enough to become myth. Legend. It takes importance to stand the test of time that way. A lesson has to be learned.
Anakin and Circe's story is told for generations long after they are go...
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Circe doesn't quite know how many days have passed since Phaedris captured her on his ship. She eats when he tells her to, though never very much and always in his company, and lies awake at night exploring the halls outside her room with her senses. Little by little, she makes her way further, stretching out with the Force to become accustomed to every piece of furniture, every doorway, every piece of dirt on the floor.
She makes a map of it in her mind, saving it for later use when it's time to make her escape. She doesn't know if Phaedris has sensed her plan or not.
Her eyes grow tired of white. It feels as though a light is always on, even at night when everything is dark, and it makes her eyes itch when she's awake. There is something sickening about a room full of white. Something unnatural. Alien.
On yet another unnumbered day, Circe slinks out of her bed as the lights switch on. Phaedris is waiting outside, leaning against the wall expectantly for her, and a brightness in his eyes that she wishes she could have. She's begun to feel quite dim.
"Breakfast?" He asks, gesturing down the hallway.
She nods, following in silence. He is the same as he always is. Calm and confident, his shoulders relaxed as though on a stroll with a friend. Perhaps Circe seems like a friend to him. Perhaps anyone he encounters could seem like a friend, as lonely as he is.
He stands slightly taller than her, with a slimmer build than either her or Anakin. It's clear he relies on the Force for combat instead of hand-to-hand like Jedi do. If Circe were to pick a physical fight she would win by pure strength alone, but his use of the Force makes him hard to control. He's inexperienced but powerful. And he's begun to trust her.
She talks to him during meals, and sometimes during walks, and sometimes when he comes to her room to say goodnight. She asks about why he's alone, and tries to pry into every answer he gives. She tries her utmost to truly listen when he talks, and she gets the sense that he is unused to this. Sometimes it makes her skin crawl, his yellow eyes seem to bore into her when he speaks, and others she finds herself slipping into conversation naturally. It is easier to converse, she thinks, than to be silent in this prison.
They walk into a larger room together, the cafeteria, one might call it, though it seems he's the only one that eats in it. Several droids whir around, tending to tables that haven't been sat at for years, wiping down surfaces that don't even have the chance to collect dust.
Phaedris motions a decorated hand towards the counter with two gleaming silver trays placed beside each other. Circe examines the rings on his fingers as she passes him. An insignia she doesn't recognize sits engraved in all of them, three perfect symbols set in silver: a phoenix, a dragon, and a serpent.
Her tray has a meticulously balanced assortment of calories, protein, and vitamins. It's no wonder to her that Phaedris is so slim, his diet is carefully managed by the droids. She grabs it, pulling it from the table to cross the room and sit in her chair. Suddenly, her head grows hot, like lightening cracking open her skull.
