A child is born. Its parents are simple, hardworking folk. Most of the folk on Chandrila are, despite the planet's wider galactic reputation. Someone has to tend the fields; that's the Mother. And someone has to repair all of the machines; that's the Father. They don't make a lot of money, but they survive. And what they lack in money, they make up for in love. They'll be good parents.
The child is three years old and a Jedi has come to visit its family. She has kind eyes and fuzzy skin and a face like a cat, and she tells the child's parents that the child is special. That it has the makings of a Jedi, if they would allow it. The parents yell, and the Jedi leaves, and then the father talks to the child, and tells it that it's special, but it needs to be quiet about it. The child doesn't understand yet, but it will.
Vestra Tane is six years old and she has decided she likes the name Vestra more than she likes the ugly, best-forgotten name her parents originally chose for her. It's prettier, she says, and she likes pretty things. Her parents are confused, and a little upset, but they love their daughter. She can be whoever she wishes, so long as she is happy.
Vestra Tane is twelve years old and her parents are explaining to her what an honor this is. A fast track to university. All the books she could ever want to read about every subject she could imagine, and nearly every story ever written. Some of the best teachers on Chandrila. Vestra is scared to be away from home. Her mother smiles at her, and tells her they'll always be there to protect her. Her father smiles, and tells her that if she keeps her head down and focuses on her studies, everything will turn out alright.
Vestra Tane is thirteen years old and she has had her first kiss. Beneath a tintolive tree, she takes the hands of a girl and promises that they'll be together forever. They talk about marriage, and raising a family, and growing old and dying in each others' arms and all the things that teenagers imagine about first loves. They fall asleep together beneath the grove, and dream whole lives together. In a year's time they'll go their separate ways, but until then they are inseparable.
Vestra Tane is fourteen years old and she has discovered that she is very, very good at fighting. Plenty of people are bigger and stronger, but few are quicker than her. And she understands the rules. The way people move. How to use the whole of her body to strike, so that small motions deliver powerful impacts. And it's fun. She takes joy in loss as deeply as she does in victory, because it's the very act of motion and testing herself against others that brings her that joy. A teacher recommends fencing to her, and she holds a rapier for the first time.
Vestra Tane is fifteen years old and her father is dying. Slowly, the doctors say, but dying nonetheless. Exposure to faulty power cells, or too much exhaust fume, or any of the other ten thousand reasons a mechanic's nervous system starts to eat itself alive. With the right medicine, and the right treatments, he might live another two decades before the symptoms become too severe. The Tane family does not have the money or the connections to get this medicine, or to afford these treatments. Vestra feels like she's going to die, too. She wants to beg, or steal, or scrounge for the money, do anything to save him. Her father smiles at her, and tells her to keep her head down and focus on her studies. Everything will be alright.
Vestra Tane is nineteen years old and she is burying a corpse. She's vomitting, too, and reciting facts about the Tionese Hegemony to calm her nerves. Her droid is helping her, though he insists that she turn herself in the whole time. But it isn't fair. It was an accident. She hadn't meant to hit him so hard. And he shouldn't have been saying the...things...about her that he was. He should not have looked at her the way he did. Not at night, especially. What was she supposed to have done? It was an accident. She'd never used the Force to kill before. It wouldn't happen again. She just needs to keep her head down.
Vestra Tane is twenty-two years old and she is defending her thesis. "Sith Influence on Technological and Cultural Advancement in the Stygian Caldera during the Golden Age." It's a controversial subject, especially in Alliance territory. One of the panelists calls her a sympathizer. Another calls her misguided. She bites her tongue. She keeps her head down. The clarity, and the tact, with which she defends herself earns her her doctorate. She visits home to celebrate, and soon wishes she hadn't.
Vestra Tane is twenty-three years old and she no longer cares about being quiet. Two weeks ago, she buried her father, a man who spent his entire life being quiet. Working hard. Who kept his head down his whole life and never bothered anyone and it killed him. And now it's killing other people, too. Because Vestra doesn't care about university anymore. In this moment, she doesn't care about keeping her head down or working hard or anything except the crack from her blaster pistol and the smell of burning flesh and making the world that hurt her hurt just the same. She kills someone's mother. Someone's father. Sister. Brother. Aunt. Son. Lover. Every death is a balm for her soul, and the deaths continue until the only choice left is to die herself, or run. And so she runs.
Vestra Tane is twenty-four years old and there is a dead, grey scar in her heart. The Spice doesn't fill it. The liquor doesn't numb the pain. The learning is spiritually fulfilling, and the money is nice, but the only thing that makes her feel alive is violence. Her life on the line, and hopefully a few dozen others too. She holds a lightsaber in her hand, pried from the fingers of a dead padawan, and decides that she is a monster. And then she decides that that's okay. Because it makes her happy, and she'd rather be a happy monster than a miserable saint.
