Cruel Destiny | Kylo Ren

Timid Mouse

"Embrace your dest–"

"Strip."

After being lead through never-ending halls of slate grey and walls of dove, I was ushered into a lavatory-like room, where the light is too bright for my eyes after the darkening gloom. I find it abrasive, enough to perhaps bring on a migraine.

Gleaming granite counter tops, full length mirrors, a large tub next to a walk in shower room, fluffy towels neatly arranged, tiled floors and a hospital-like bed in the centre–this place certainly isn't run by risk-takers as the space was bright and sterile, lacking even a trace of warmth.

"I said... strip!" Barked an unpleasant man, who the StormTroopers had passed me onto. He was not overly old but he hunched a little just below my height enough for me to know that he was feeling the first aches of many years.

He had lifeless grey hair that limply framed his face, which was wrinkled by many peaks and trenches–presumably from the way he looked at me now, they must have been caused by years of consistent scowling. His entire face seemed drained of any signs of joy and amusement, instead his furrowed brows told a tale of regular displeasure.

My mouth goes dry at his demand. I don't wish to undress in front of this man, whom I do not know. Beneath these blinding lights, the imperfections on my skin would shine like a beacon and without clothes on, there was nowhere to hide; I begin to panic. 

What if this man deems me unworthy of fulfilling my purpose? What will the First Order do with me if I wasn't to their standards? Commander September would regularly check my figure, but there was something structured about the way she would do it–and sadly, she was familiar.

"I-" My voice hesitated, my mind racing to keep pace with my mouth, "–I am not supposed to reveal myself to any man other than who destiny decides," The words came out rushed, swathed in a tone that was hardly at all confident. It was a distinctive hollow voice, empty and practiced. Like an echo, a voice that could never quite claim itself to be something of its own.

The words spoken weren't a lie though: I was never to show myself to any man unless it was who the First Order paired me to–in this case, only Kylo Ren could demand me to undress, much like the man before me tried. Either way, it was a terrifying notion. 

The man huffs a harsh breath, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. 

"Arion!" He calls out, and I snap my head into the direction of where he turns–a hatch to the left suddenly opens, revealing a small girl, maybe a couple years younger than me. "Bathe the girl and prepare her to standards. I will be the one to approve of your work once you are finished." He spat.

The girl–Arion–nods, and under my brief gaze she doesn't withdraw or flinch, but neither does she step forward to be seen. "Yes, Sir." She nods with a blank tone, and upon her response, the man doesn't give me another look as he disappears into the room the girl had just come from.

She turns and heads to the large bathtub and begins preparing it. I stare lifelessly at her back as she pour soaps into the warming water, creating white bubbles. "Would you please undress for your bath?" She utters, not glancing back as she spoke–but I could almost sense her eyes twitch in my direction while her spine remained facing. 

Suddenly, my grey uniform begins to feel heavy and my headscarf almost feels too loose. I didn't want to undress in front of Arion either, but she was a much better prying eye than the ones that belonged to the previous man.

I take my boots off first, peeling my socks and headscarf from my body after. Next, I begin to untie my blouse with nervous fingers and untuck it from my thick skirt, which I step out of shortly after. The cold air is lace against my skin, the warmth of my blood causing goosebumps as a defence against such ice.