Private When One Door Closes

[Tannor Grene]

The room was quiet in a way that felt intentional. Soft lighting replaced harsh overhead panels. The hum of distant generators and station traffic was muted behind layered sound-dampening walls. Every surface, every detail, had been chosen with care; not for luxury, but for calm. Neutral colors. Subtle textures. Gentle, indirect illumination. Nothing to distract. Nothing to overwhelm. A low table sat between two comfortable chairs, flanked by a small couch along the far wall. A simple tray held warm caf, chilled water, and a selection of mild teas. No datapads were visible. No recording equipment. No obvious security systems. The space felt private, both deliberately and meticulously so.

Behind it all stood the barely perceptible thrum of a Faraday enclosure, shielding the room from outside surveillance, slicing the space cleanly away from the endless observation that dominated much of the galaxy.

Tannor waited inside. He stood near the window panel, which was a simulated skyline slowly cycling through a peaceful day-night pattern. His posture was relaxed, his presence calm and grounded. His clothing was practical, muted, unassuming. Nothing about him demanded attention. And yet, there was a steadiness to him that quietly anchored the room.

This space was not a clinic. It was a sanctuary. When the door chimed, Tannor turned smoothly, offering a gentle nod of greeting. “Come in. You’re safe here.” His voice carried warmth, measured and steady, without pretense. “There’s no formal procedure. No required introductions. No obligation to share anything you aren’t ready to.” He gestured toward the seating. “We go at your pace. Everything spoken here remains here. I keep no digital records, and nothing leaves this room unless you decide it should.” A pause. Not heavy. Just space. “My role isn’t to judge, fix, or direct. I’m here to listen, to help untangle what feels knotted, and to walk beside you while you sort through it.” His gaze remained gentle, steady. “Whenever you’re ready… you can begin.”

Tag: Efret Farr

 

[Efret Farr]

Three weeks after The Picture of a Lady

Since resigning as Chief Curator, Efret had been avoiding her former colleagues in the New Jedi Order. And now, since plans to rescue Elias had been solidifying with the Knights of Shiraya, she had taken her leave of that Council too, though she had been an advisor of sorts rather than a sitting member.

Pipma had been the last NJO-aligned Jedi Efret had spoken with.

During their holocall, the Sith Pureblood had made one last request of her former superior.

“Go seek help, please. Don’t walk this path alone.”

She had looked so sad, even though the medium of humming blue pixels. Her face tendrils seemed weighed down like the corners of her lips which formed a frown.

Coruscant had still been under Galactic Alliance control, but the hope that it would stay so had thinned and been scattered among the Core’s stars. It was a devastating constellation to trace in a clear night’s sky, invisible but undeniable in its existence. Still, very few Jedi named it aloud.

The almost-certainty that the Empire would raze the Grand Temple and a good part of Galactic City with it, the dread of what it would surely do with both—that was sad to say the least. Pipma should feel for that, for them—all the beings that called the Gem of the Galaxy home—not for her.

“I respect your choice to take time away from the Jedi. I know you know this, but there are many other avenues to healing. Pick one or two.”

Efret was in fact no stranger to the concept of Pipma’s urging. As an archeologist and an anthropologist, she had accumulated a great knowledge of cultures both living and dead. Only the minority were built around Force-sensitivity like the Jedi; most were mundane, as were their healing traditions. But, in that, they weren’t ineffective—only perhaps controversial amongst those Jedi who were biased against ways of knowing, of being, that weren’t their own.

The last time Efret had sought out an alternative to Force healing, though she had been eager to receive help, she had also been nervous to be found out and chastised by her fellows. She hadn’t been. In fact, Knight von Ascania had descended into Deep Well with her, with an equally open mind for the Fondorian Luddites’ way of life and an unwavering support of her friend.

This time, there was nothing for Efret to be afraid of. She had left two sects behind.

“Take good care, Efret.”

The only remaining question was what method to pick.

Maybe something Gungan? She needed to stay close to Theed.

When she was referred to Dr. Grene through a chance meeting at Theed Medical Center—not of the therapist but of a nurse by the name of Aiyorre Geprault—she took that as a sign. During the process of scheduling her first appointment, whatever that looked like, Efret had been sure to mention or note her accessibility needs.

She was Deafblind. She read lips but needed clear line of sight to do so. A small vocabulator would be interpreting for her as she used Galactic Basic Sign Language. It was an entirely self-contained unit, so its electronics would work perfectly as intended even within the Faraday caged office.

She walked in with a slight bow of her upper body, listened to him until he gestured for her to sit, then took a place on the sofa.

“Thank you,” she said after his addition, with a grateful smile. The feminine voice coming from the unit in one of her round necklace pendants was slightly monotoned, but it took on Efret’s warm humanity and expressive face.

“I…” She drummed fingers stained with permanent henna in the air directly before her. Her interpretation unit didn’t verbalize the movement, but let her think. “...don’t know how to start,” she admitted. Embarrassment tinged her face like a light blush, colorless but there nonetheless.

“The most recent time I saw a doctor was for her benefit. She was part of a group conducting research on Force users.” She paused again, staying still as she thought of Aaaine. “I saw another years ago to learn something about myself, for myself, but that was of a physical nature.”

Tannor Grene​

 

[Tannor Grene]

Tannor waited until her hands stilled. He kept his posture open, his voice measured and unhurried; careful that his words were visible as well as audible. “You’ve started,” he said gently. A small pause. “Not knowing how to begin is often the most honest beginning.”

His gaze flicked briefly to the unit at her throat, then back to her face; never lingering long enough to imply novelty. It was simply part of the room, as natural as the sofa beneath her hands. “You mentioned the last time you saw a doctor was for someone else’s research.” He let that settle. “And before that, to understand something physical about yourself.” His tone remained calm. “This is neither of those.” A slight lean forward but attentive, not intrusive. “You are not here as a subject. And you are not here as a specimen.” The faintest warmth touched his expression. “You are here because someone who cares about you asked you not to walk alone.”

Another silence that was spacious, not empty. “So we don’t need to begin with history. Or diagnosis.” His hands rested loosely together. “We can begin with this.” Another small beat. “When you decided to come here… what were you hoping might be different?”

Tag: Efret Farr

 

[Efret Farr]

"Different?" she echoed. "Nothing. The Jedi caution against expectation." She didn't have to be one to get a feeling that he'd have something to say about that. Even without hearing it, she likely agreed with him, but she continued for now before he could reply.

"I think it would be foolish not to acknowledge them. Expectations, I mean. The heart beats, the lungs breathe, the mind expects. It's all natural and what's natural can't be wrong. But it does benefit a scientist to put their expectations aside. I was an archeologist for the NJO until recently. I also did anthropology a long time ago, before the war with the Dark Empire." Bittersweet recollection of all the cultures she had experienced and documented weighed down the corners of her mouth, but then it passed, and her smile was almost easy again.

"Few or no expectations allows for the most discovery and the least disappointment. I..." Subtle realization crossed her face. "...suppose those are expectations, actually."

Tannor Grene​

 

[Tannor Grene]

"So even in acknowledging the value of having no expectations, one is still…expecting?" He let the words linger just long enough for the irony to settle between them, though his expression remained serene, almost neutral. A quiet smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "It seems even the most disciplined observer cannot entirely escape the habits of the heart."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes attentive but not probing. "Archeology and anthropology…fascinating pursuits. Perhaps it is easier to practice impartial observation when one has spent a lifetime unearthing layers of history, studying cultures that no longer speak, and documenting what others might overlook. One trains the mind to see without wanting, yet the heart - well, the heart always has its own rhythm."

Tag: Efret Farr

 

[Efret Farr]

Her smile and laugh offgassed her embarrassment until it was simply idle amusement. "You're right," she admitted. Then she added, "I'm not a droid even though I sound like one." Her vocoder's delivery of the joke was flat, but her hazel eyes glinted with the clever mischievousness of a padawan.

"Yes," she continued, falling back into seriousness. "They were fascinating. Learning about the galaxy's many worlds and cultures brought me much joy. Part of my work was with ancient history through discovery and study of artifacts, yes, but I often worked as a field ethnographer with contemporary cultures as well.

"But they do seem different, the expectations one may have at work and those they have in their life. In my case, accepting a culture as it is is only logical, especially if you're a guest. And if the culture is bygone..." She shrugged, not a sign but a nonverbal equivalent of well.... "...someone can debate with the artifacts it's left behind until they're blue in the face. But when it comes to a being's life, a level of expectation seems healthy.

"In many situations, hope for a particular outcome is normal. When kept within the boundaries of reason, it can contribute to one's happiness." Her mind drifted to Elias and how her hope for them ground to a fine flour like rock beneath a glacier about three weeks ago. Even though what was once almost tangible had now sieved through her fingers, something that caused her great grief, also brought gratefulness which did make her happy even still.

Her eyes grew more glossy with tears not yet on their waterlines.

Tannor Grene​

 

[Tannor Grene]

Tannor did not interrupt her rhythm. He allowed her logic to unfurl. The anthropology of expectation, the cultural lens, the careful framing of hope within reasonable boundaries.

When she finished, he inclined his head slightly. “You are very practiced at contextualizing emotion,” he observed quietly. It was not criticism, but recognition. “In your work, that skill is invaluable. It allows you to observe without imposing. To respect without reshaping.” A small pause. “But personal attachment is not fieldwork.” His voice softened, though it remained even. “You cannot be both participant and neutral ethnographer in your own life.”

His gaze lifted, meeting hers, and then stilled as he noticed the gloss gathering there. He did not point it out. He did not rush to fill the space.

“Hope within reason,” he echoed gently. “Tell me… who determines the boundaries of reason when the heart is involved?”

Silence followed, but not empty.

“You speak of gratefulness and grief in the same breath,” he added after a moment. “That suggests something meaningful existed.” Another pause. “What did you hope for?” Not why. Not whether it was wise. Simply what.

Tag: Efret Farr

 

[Efret Farr]

She looked away, casting a sweet but sad smile at the wall. "A relationship," she began before focusing back on him. "A husband. Perhaps eventually a family."

One tear breached her eye and slowly rolled down her cheek. She didn't know she was crying until she felt the rivulet caressing her skin. She wiped it away with her thumb then began to sign again. "Many things got in the way. None had to." That was the tragedy of it. She shifted on the sofa, uncrossing her legs and recrossing them the other way. "And now..."

She trailed off, considering something related to trust.

"He's in the Netherworld, Doctor."

Tannor Grene​

 

[Tannor Grene]

Tannor did not react to the tear, nor to the word Netherworld. His stillness became steadier instead, and intentional.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not reflexively, but with weight. A quiet breath passed between them as he gestured towards a box of tissues for her that sat on the small end table next to her.

“You said you wanted a husband. A family.” His voice lowered slightly. “What was his name?” The question was asked not a demand, but an offering. “If you’re willing… tell me about him.” He leaned back just enough to make the space feel less interrogative. “What made you choose him?” A pause. “What did he do that made you feel certain… even if the world complicated it later?” He let the questions remain open, not stacked. “He doesn’t have to remain abstract in this room, Efret. He can be specific.” Another measured beat. “Sometimes grief softens when we allow the person to live again in memory, rather than only in regret.” Silence was held gently. “I’d like to know who he was."

Tag: Efret Farr

 

[Efret Farr]

Normally, her mouth would pull up into a small but grateful smile, but it didn't today. The sadness she carried throughout her body was too heavy to allow for such a pleasantry. On top of that, she knew she was safe with the doctor. Her politeness was never entirely performative, but sometimes it did feel expected. By who? A mental audience of Jedi both long-dead and not. Tannor was not among them.

So she just said, "Thank you."

No smile to cushion her discomfort both ways.

She leaned over to the end table to pull a tissue from their box. She dabbed at the droplet's path she had interrupted, then dropped the tissue into her lap. "His name is Elias. He's a Jedi master like me." Her word choice was definitely not lost on the good doctor. The need the explain herself was another weight on her, but she ignored it for now. She ought lay the foundation of her story first.

"We were near the outskirts of Theed when a rift opened in the city center. We went in to support the Shirayan Knights who already had." She paused. Time stretched on not too long but long enough to imply something more: she didn't want to tell the next part of the story. Yes, what she and Elias had seen in the Netherworld had been horrific, but it all was nothing compared to what happened after that point of her memory. "We tried to return too late. The rift was closing quickly, but Elias pushed me through."

She moved on then, altogether too quickly. "I use the present tense because he's alive. I know because he gave me a gift. Do you know about the Picture of a Lady flowers native to Cathar?"

They were beautiful blooms, golden as the sunlight that they basked in as they grew atop the jungles' mightiest trees. As the legend went, they cooperated with the tree, living off shared water and nutrients until it was picked by a sentient. From that moment, it would sustain itself off the being's love as if it had been transplanted in their heart.

And the one Elias had picked for her yet lived, so, somewhere beyond the veil, his heart was still good soil. It still beat.

It still loved her.

Tannor Grene​

 

[Tannor Grene]

Tannor did not interrupt her. Not when she spoke of the rift. Not when she moved past the part she did not wish to name. And certainly not when she spoke of the flower. He let the silence settle first. It was not a heavy silence, not clinical either, but reverent. “Elias,” he repeated softly, as if committing the name to memory. “Thank you for telling me.”

His gaze remained steady, warm rather than analytical. “To be pushed through like that…” He paused, choosing his words with care. “To have someone decide, in an instant, that your life must continue and theirs may not; that is not a small thing to carry.”

He did not challenge the present tense. He did not touch the metaphysics of flowers sustained by love. Instead he gently asked; “When he pushed you… do you remember what you felt in that moment?” A breath was released after a pause. “And now, when you think of it… is there any part of you that resents him for making that choice?” There was no accusation. No expectation as to what her response could be. “Sometimes,” he added quietly, “being the one who survives can feel less like salvation… and more like a sentence.”

Tag: Efret Farr

 

[Efret Farr]

"Survivor's guilt," she agreed. "I always thought that it was for those who fought, not for Archeologists."

She shook her head. "I don't really remember it myself," she admitted, "but I do remember feeling the shock after." Coming out of that had been like pushing her way out of a fog so dense that it resisted movement in any direction. And when the air finally thinned and the pressure let up, her reality dawned on her all over again.

"I was told that I Force screamed after the rift closed. It's a Darkside power, fueled by strong emotion. It effected others around me. They felt what I felt. Paralyzing grief, one of them said.

"And not just people. Plants throughout the courtyard grew." A combination of positive and...not quite negative but surely unintended discomfort. She certainly hadn't meant to share such raw feeling with strangers.

"I think—" She stopped herself. "No, I am." Another pause, longer this time, as she took a deep breath and held her head high. "I'm angry: not at whatever ripped open the veil, but at Elias."

Naming things gave them power, at least initially.

Given permission, repressed anger began to gently boil her blood.

"I don't want to be angry at him," she added, not just to stave off the passion rising to consume but to also name the truth.

"If we couldn't be happy together..." Her brow knit with the effort it suddenly took to sign. "...we could have suffered together."

Even the most emotionally intelligent Jedi would likely bristle at her confession. She shouldn't want to suffer. But if she did alongside Elias, she didn't think it would be so bad. Maybe that, thinking such a thing, was bad. Efret couldn't—no, wouldn't—bring herself to care. This was another of her truths.

Suffering was an eventuality of life. Efret had always know that; as a Lorrdian, maybe better than most others. The generational trauma permanently imprinted on the human subspecies by the Kanz Disorders was all the proof of that lesson needed. As a Jedi, she had been taught to avoid suffering by reshaping her perception. While the viewpoints of both of her identities weren't wholly incongruent, their differences were nuanced and evidenced in the idea that Efret now struggled with.

If struggling was unavoidable, was it better to try to avoid it anyway or to experience it with others? Did sharing truly lessen the collective impact while also strengthening the bonds between the people who shared it? The answer had been yes for the enslaved Lorrdians. Wouldn't the answer had been yes for Efret and Elias?

"I'm angry that we can't because of his choice."

Neither of them were alone—she had many friends in the galaxy and he had Nirrah—but they were apart from one another. Even the support of her best friends couldn't mold itself into the Elias-shaped hole in her heart.

Tannor Grene​

 

[Tannor Grene]

Tannor did not interrupt her. Not when she named the Force scream. Not when she admitted her anger. Not even when she confessed she would have chosen shared suffering over separation.

When she finished, he let the silence sit for a moment before responding. “Survivor’s guilt does not discriminate by profession,” he said gently. “It isn’t reserved for soldiers. It belongs to anyone who walks away from something that changed them… while others did not.” His gaze remained steady, but soft towards her. “And anger,” he continued, “is not the opposite of love. It’s often proof of it. You’re not angry at him because you enjoy anger. You’re angry because a future you believed in was taken from you. Because you would have chosen to endure hardship beside him rather than safety apart from him. That doesn’t mean that you want suffering. It just means that you wanted partnership.”

He tilted his head slightly, thoughtful for a moment before he continued. “You’re asking an important question; whether struggling together strengthens bonds, whether shared pain lessens it's weight. History says yes, sometimes. But only when both people choose it. If he chose differently, then what you’re grieving isn’t just him. It’s the version of you that would have faced the storm at his side.”

Another pause was taken to allow her to digest his words. “You’re allowed to be angry at that loss. And the question isn’t whether you should avoid suffering or embrace it. The question is this: what kind of partnership do you deserve?”

He let that question linger for a moment. “Is it one where you carry the weight alone because he stepped away… or one where someone stays?”

Tag: Efret Farr

 

[Efret Farr]

“That doesn’t mean that you want suffering. It just means that you wanted partnership.”

The doctor was right. There was nuance there, and nearly everywhere else, layered like sedimentary strata and unconsolidated mud. She felt the grime in between her fingers like she was on an excavation for the first time in years, digging for some artifacts—aspects of herself, her reasons, that she hadn't even known she had buried.

She looked away from him to pour herself some tea, then left it on the coffee table to cool.

"He didn't step away," she corrected. "I did. I went to him after a duel. I barely survived. He and the healers in his enclave saved me and Nirrah. She's a convor. Very strong in the Force. She sees for me through visual telepathy."

The weight of her absence, which Efret had been carrying every moment of the last three weeks, grew heavier yet, distributed evenly across her heat and the shoulder where she typically perched.

"She was trapped with Elias. She had been flying behind me."

The canyons on her brow carved themselves again like flash floods during monsoon season. "Maybe that's another reason I'm angry. I'm not just here without Elias." That would be more than enough, but she suddenly realized that it wasn't the limit of how venturing into the Netherworld on that fateful day had changed her life. "I can't interact with this world how I used to.

"I miss Nirrah for more than what she could do for me in that regard, truly, but the practicality... I got used to it." She'd like to think that she hadn't taken it for granted, but she wasn't sure either way. "Does that make me a bad friend?" Immediately after asking, she reached for her mug, seeking out the comfort of its warmth as if it would cure her quandary.

Tannor Grene​

 

[Tannor Grene]

Tannor watched Efret for a moment, letting her words settle in the quiet space between them. “You’re carrying a lot,” he said softly, almost to himself. Then he met her eyes. “It makes sense you’d feel that weight. Any person would.”

He tilted his head evrr so slightly, studying her expression. “You survived something dangerous, something that could have ended you. You lost the ease of interaction with the world because of it. That’s real, and it’s valid.” A pause while his gaze softened. “And missing Nirrah… that doesn’t make you a bad friend. That makes you human. You valued her presence, and now it’s absent. Feeling that loss doesn’t mean you failed anyone. It means you care.”

He then nodded gently towards her mug. “Comfort matters. It’s not a weakness to seek it. It’s part of being grounded in moments when the weight feels too heavy.”Another pause, this one just a fraction longer than the last as he considered his next words. “And the connection you still have with Nirrah… that’s strength, Efret. Not because she guides you, but because it reminds you that you’re not alone. Even when she’s away, even when the world feels like it shifted under your feet, that bond is a tether to who you are. Lean on it, if you need. That’s what it’s for.”

Tag: Efret Farr

 

[Efret Farr]

Efret peered at Tannor over the mug's far lip as she took sips of the slightly-cooled brew. She slowly put the cup down a few moments after he had finished speaking, thoughtfulness written over the brow in wrinkles of olive skin as she she did.

"I think you misunderstand," she said. "I'm not worried about being Nirrah's friend. I'm worried that..." She paused to tap the fingers of one hand in the air, a thinking motion among signers. "I might only think that I'm her friend. That I really only valued her for what she could do for me."

The furrows on her brow deepened. "That could be true of Elias too. I..." Another pause. Slight panic joined the inquisitiveness on her features, like she had just solved a puzzle but was beginning to be horrified by the results. That didn't mean that the results were true, though. Shame moved her eyes from Tannor's face.

"Where's the line, between loving someone for who they are and appreciating what they bring to your life?"

Her eyes shifted almost shyly back to behold his answer.

Tannor Grene​

 

[Tannor Grene]

Tannor leaned back slightly, letting Efret’s words settle in the quiet space between them. He watched the subtle movements -the way her fingers tapped in thought, the slight shift of shame in her eyes - and gave each pause the respect that it deserved.

And when he spoke, he spoke softly with his tone steady and measured, being both careful not to rush her or to dismiss the fear behind her question. “It’s natural to question your motives,” he said. “To wonder if your care for someone is genuine, or if it’s tied to what they bring to your life. That reflection is part of being aware and compassionate. It shows that you value the relationships themselves, not just the benefits that they might offer you.”

Tannor’s gaze remained calm and patient. “The line isn’t always clear-cut. Often, it’s not a single moment of clarity, but the pattern over time. When you consider your feelings and actions toward someone… if kindness, empathy, and respect guide them, then that care is real. If you notice moments where you act purely from gain, awareness lets you correct course. That’s all any of us can do.”

He let his words hang gently, giving Efret the space to digest them, knowing that she might need some time before the relief - or the understanding - could fully settle. Tannor’s eyes softened as he watched her wrestle with the thought, and he offered a suggestion, being careful to keep it gentle. “One small step,” he said, “might be to observe your actions, quietly, over the next few days. Notice the moments when you act from care, from curiosity, or from respect, and the moments when it’s purely convenience or gain. There’s no judgment in simply noticing. Awareness is the first step toward understanding your own heart.” He paused, giving Efret the space to take the idea in. “You don’t need to solve it all at once. Sometimes, just acknowledging these questions is enough to start shaping the answer.”

Tannor leaned back slightly, letting the silence support her reflection rather than filling it. He would wait; both patient and attentive, knowing that the seeds of insight often took their time to grow.

Tag: Efret Farr

 

[Efret Farr]

She finished her tea as he spoke, then took a few moments to think over all he had said after he was finished. Finally, she said sincerely, "That kind of insight would be very useful. I will do that."

More silence followed.

"I don't know how many Jedi would value your expertise," she observed. "In my experience, Jedi orders tend to be self-contained, encouraging Jedi to depend on each other for help rather than outside sources. I've wondered for a long time if that tendency comes from a collective sense of having a superior way of knowing, of being, and, if so, if that independence really serves us." The smile she offered was not happy nor quite sad, but full of realization. "Or lets us serve the Force."

Her smile shifted into warm gratefulness. "Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your perspective on the matters of my heart. I would like to talk more about them. May I schedule another appointment?"

She didn't know how much longer he would be in Theed. His schedule would dictate when they could see each other again, since she didn't have anything to do herself. In fact, she didn't know what to do with herself other than stay close in case the Shirayans succeeded in bringing Elias back from the beyond.

Tannor Grene​