Orryn's Journal

I met someone.

Not a sister, not a spirit, not an echo of prophecy.
A man.

He came to Dathomir like a shadow,
not from the clans, not bound by their rules.
A wanderer, carrying something heavy in his eyes.
But when he looked at me, it wasn't hunger.
It wasn't the gaze of the elders,
measuring what I could give to their loom.

It was different.
It was alive.

He asked me my name.
No one has ever asked like that before.
Not as a test. Not as a title.
Just my name. Orryn.

When he spoke to me,
I felt my chest tighten,
as if the cage I've lived in had cracked a little.
It frightened me.
It thrilled me.

I don't know who he is.
Not yet.
But when his hand brushed mine,
I wanted it to stay.
I wanted more.

For the first time in my life,
I felt like I belonged to myself.