"W-why are you doing this?" she stammered, stunned by the blow. Boba Fett had slammed her against the wall in a rage. After all the years she had known him, she never thought he would ever hurt her.

Years ago while a slave in Jabba's shipyard, she first feared him as everyone did. He had a reputation that kept others wary of his presence. He was deadly – and everyone knew it. Yet, through all her lonely and painful years under Jabba, it was ironically her moments with the bounty hunter that brought her the most comfort. Over the course of seven years, a unique and discrete relationship grew between them through subtle kindnesses and brief conversations. Greta couldn't be sure, but she recognized that he seemed to prefer her company in the great hall over anyone else - even his customary solitude. Some nights, he would find her in the shipyard after hours and they would work on the Slave I together. Sometimes, they talked. Sometimes, he acknowledged her in the hall with a look her way. And even though she could not see his face, she could tell by now when he was looking at her.

All those memories seemed worthless now as he pinned her against a wall in his holding cell with one hand on her neck. She couldn't speak, she couldn't breathe . . . Her mind was screaming, Boba, please . . . !

"You will do as I say," he growled. He let go of her roughly and looked at her momentarily, as though he were struggling with himself. Before Greta could speak, he turned from her and slammed the cell door shut behind him.

Greta, shaking and white, slowly sank to the floor. Tears fell from her eyes – ones she had held back from showing him, knowing he would despise her all the more for this weakness. Never had she felt so alone, for all the terrible years she had spent in Jabba's palace. It didn't make sense why he was treating her like this. For years, he had been a calm, steady presence in her life, one who never hastened to anger but did everything with such precise control. Perhaps he was an impostor? Someone looking to steal his identity? Alas, no - Greta knew in her heart that this man was him: his posture, intonations, his movements all belonged to the Boba she knew, this man whom she had loved for so long.

And now she felt ashamed of her feelings, afraid they were built on nothing but a self-made delusion. She couldn't be sure of anything she knew about him now.

On the floor, in her confusion and sorrow, Greta wept.