Purpose: A Kylo Ren Tale

Fifteen

I wake just after dawn the next morning, unsurprised to find myself alone in bed. Kylo Ren doesn't strike me as a lazy morning cuddler. I'm fine with it.

I'm swimming in plush white blankets and furs and it's like floating on a cloud. Except my entire body is sore. Somehow absolutely every single one of my muscles is aching, despite the long soak in the tub.

My hands run up and down my body, assessing the damage.

I'm pleased to see and feel purple bruises forming in multiple places. He has marked me, left me mementos to appreciate as they fade to pink and green and yellow during healing. And I secretly hope he'll leave more before these are gone. I wear them like a badge of honor.

I'm running a hand lightly across my bare backside when-

[WHACK]

My entire body clenches at the sound and I swear my ass has war flashbacks.

But it's not a belt I hear, and it's not even in the house. I painstakingly crawl out of bed, wrap a black silk robe around my frame, throw my hair into an elastic, and make my way to the living room.

[WHACK]

I follow the auditory intrusion. I have faith in my protective charm, so I know that the sound isn't ominous or dangerous.

[WHACK]

I look out past the fruit tree and see Kylo Ren chopping wood by the shed. He's using the axe, and not The Force. His body is doing all of the work and I admire the overpoweringly masculine sight before me.

The early morning suns shine down on a fresh blanket of snow. It's bright white, and his stark contrast is almost too harsh on the eyes. Black hair, black gloves, black boots, black pants, black long sleeve shirt clinging to his torso as he works his muscles.

For a while I watch and let the lust roll off of me.

As he's stacking the split logs in a neat pile against the shed, I finally peel my eyes away, and turn my attention to the kitchen. I feel the warmth of the fire he has already started, and a cauldron of plain water hangs above the flames, steaming hot.

He knows I like doing the tea part myself.

I summon an array of herbs and flowers, different than my normal morning brew. I add petals that will help ease the tension in my muscles and promote healing. Everything steeps in the water and it turns a soft brown-pink color. It smells calming. I feel my nerves loosen as I sip.

Next, I make us a simple breakfast over the fire.

As I'm finishing, he comes inside, raising the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face. His torso is slick with sweat, muscles tight from the work. I worship the sight. He's a god. He's a devil.

We eat at the round kitchen table, I sip my floral tea, we are comfortable in the silence.

When we're both finished, and I pour myself a second mug of tea, I feel that my mind and body are finally fully awake and alert. I'm ready to start the day.

"You didn't leave last night," I remark plainly. I feel no emotion about the fact, it's just an observation.

"You fell asleep after your reward, before we could discuss your next lesson."

I'm eager to learn more. My fingertips tingle.

He walks over to his cape, still in a rumpled pile on the living room floor. After fishing around an inner pocket, he comes back to the table with a small fabric pouch, about the size of my palm. I thought that he had come empty handed, but it seems I was mistaken.

"To guide you during your coming studies," he says as he places it in front of me.

I loosen the drawstring and open the pouch. Inside I find an assortment of dried mushrooms, and to the untrained eye they might look like any of the other dried fungi in jars on my shelves.

But I know better.

These are psychedelic mushrooms.

"You didn't strike me as the party type, Kylo Ren. Always the surprise," I joke.

"Your next lesson will be on dreams. Visions, prophecies. You will learn to decipher them," he says seriously.

We spend the first part of the day discussing the handful of visions I've had in my life. He wants to hear them in detail, and we examine which ones eventually came to pass.

I tell him about seeing my mother's death in a daydream at age 6. And how at age 8, it happened exactly as I predicted. At 14, I smoked spice for the first time and clearly saw a cerulean ocean planet behind the stars in my eyes. I stole my first ship a year later and the blue watery world was the first place The Force led me to. Then at 19, I began dreaming of the thread. Four years later and I now know who was at the other end, tugging at my mind.

I then tell him of my latest dream. The large crystal cave. My invitation to The Dark Side. One I accepted with open arms.

"Yes," he says, deep in thought. "I felt the shift in the The Force. Felt your power seep into the darkness."

He turns back to me, his eyes pierce mine. And I know that if he had his defenses down I'd see purple smoke swirling around him. Even without it, I can plainly read the pride on his face. He's proud that I've chosen this side of the coin. Proud that I came to the conclusion on my own.

We spend the rest of the day discussing dreams and divination, and deciphering subconscious symbols.  It's a skill I'm itching to master. I want to know what fate the stars have in store for me. I want to predict the future.

He departs eventually, as he always does. He leaves me with the small pouch of magic mushrooms and my next assignment.

"Meditate in the small cave. Imbibe the plant, let it expand your mind. Follow your thoughts wherever they lead you. Report back when you've analyzed these visions."

His TIE leaves the atmosphere and I feel his signature fly further and further away. I'm alone in the cabin.

My new bruises keep me company.