When the Day Loved the Night (On Temporary Hiatus!)

When the Day Loved the Night

[Quick A/N- This chapter is divided into three parts, the third involving an untraditional deconstruction of more intimate writing. It's a very unorthodox and artistic scene, vague in most descriptions, rather than something explicit and vulgar, but I thought I should put a warning just in case that's not your cup of tea. :)]

Rey shifted uncomfortably atop her velvet sheets.

There had been no training, no meetings with the conclave. Kylo Ren had not summoned her in days.

The Jedi alone was left to wallow in her worry as she fantasized her inevitable demise by the hands of Snoke in countless variations. She bore no purpose any longer if Kylo Ren did not teach her; the Supreme Leader anticipated eagerly the moment he could rid the First Order of their little Jedi.

Rey's eyes had closed tightly, but sleep would not obey their beckoning call. It was the sun's tender touch that persuaded her awake, tumbling gently through the ivory blinds of her window.

The faint glowing streaks of light on the tile floor served a reminder that it was, in fact, deep into the day, and Rey could not surrender to sleep as she wished she might.

Hours had crumbled and drifted away with the dust of the past in a solemn echo.

Still, the Jedi lingered where she was despite the silence of the force, of her bond.

Perhaps, she feared to face the consequences of her rejection of Ren, or, far more painfully, she cowered now from fate itself. What cruel irony it had been that she craved so desperately for an escape, yet when Rey stood at the edge of the end, she could not find peace within it. She was destined, it seemed, trapped upon the carousel of Snoke's manipulation; with each sickening roundabout, she would be left nothing but to clutch onto her destiny and submit.

Rey slid her sore figure off her mattress and strode silently to the platinum vanity seated placidly across the bedroom.

It seemed life was a labyrinth, and the Jedi had exhausted the fraying remnants of her guiding, golden string.

The door to her bedroom slid away in a deafening crack as Rey spun to discover, in unbecoming disappointment, a personal droid rolling into the room, its wheels careening on the floor while a clump of metallic fabric flounced in its hands.

"Mistress Kenobi, I've been ordered to dress you for this evening's-"

"What is this?" Rey inquired suspiciously, seizing the clothing from the android and inspecting it sourly.

The robot did not reach for the fabrica. "I've been ordered to dress you f-"

"I didn't know the First Order programmed incoherent droids. Aren't you wired to say anything else?" Rey snapped, though her eyes remained cemented to the cloth in her hands.

If the droid responded, the Jedi did not recognize its words as she studied the unfurling material atop her fingertips. She allowed the silky sheet to slip between the crevices of her hands, and it morphed into the framework of a dress, sleek and refined. Its pleated skirt shone as armor, metallic in luster, while the bodice tightened elegantly like the chain of a breastplate. The dress gleamed in such iridescence that Rey could glimpse her own reflection in the dress's steel material, almost as if it were an iron mirror. At the collar of her armored gown, a cluster of sable pearls plunged across the scooped open back.

Rey could not deny the garment's beauty; however, she would rebuke Snoke's command.

In the quiet, the droid repeated its mission, "I've been ordered to dress you for this eveni-"