A/N1: This is, frankly, the weirdest thing in whole three years of my fic writing career. Literally no idea what am I doing here or where exactly this is coming from. It's an experiment, a venture unto uncharted territory, and I'm scared af. Enjoy or not, just don't hate me for this, please.

Since I probably won't be posting anything else before the end of year, I'm wishing one thing for everybody, including myself: may the year 2020 be a better one than the 2019 has been. We all need a brilliant year, and maybe this is finally the time.

Again, a nasty sandstorm. Another bad night.

The part of Tatooine where Lars household - her household - lies, is regularly plagued with sandstorms. Rey never sleeps well, but her nights when the wind is howling among buildings and the sand is scraping against walls, they are the worst ones. No matter how hard she tries, no matter how deep into meditation she falls, the wind always sounds like the mad laughter that had been piercing her ears over at Exogol. Rustling sand always sounds like the murmured prayers of devotees to the Emperor. Emperor Palpatine, grandfather she'd prefer to not ever meet, puppeteer who orchestrated all the tragedies in her life, as well as in most of the universe. Part of the family she has longed so much to learn of, the man was actually a monster, the greatest evil in the galaxy. It turned out to be a legacy too heavy to bear. Rey has borrowed a name from other family to hide ugly truth behind it; but also to draw strength from the name and, finally, to commemorate the name. Truth to be told, it's been a family as messed up as her own. Yet, the Skywalkers were also her real family, in a way.

Leia. Luke. Both with hearts split between duty and love, full of regrets, full of mysteries. Still, people closer to Rey than anyone within her memory.

Rey meets them, sometimes. One or the other, or both, they keep on showing up as Force Spirits, every now and then. Rey wants to talk with them, badly. There's still so many things she needs to ask about, so many things she wants to learn about - the Force, the universe, the people. They don't respond to her questions and pleas though, her yells and screams fall on deaf ears. Instead, they seem to simply watch her, when she's busy around the house, or on her way to get supplies, or maintaining moisture farm equipment. Always outdoors, they watch her for a couple of minutes from afar, and then disappear without a word. Rey doesn't know whether it's a silent approval of the life she's having, or maybe a silent disagreement to her choice. She won't know, unless they will tell her - which may, or may not ever happen.

Maybe they don't want to talk with her because of Ben.

Rey didn't ask to be brought back to life. Return to the Light didn't require Ben to sacrifice his own life. The last of Skywalker family, he should be the one to get back alive from that horrid place.

Rey can't recall the exact moment of her death. Nothing was lighter or darker, she can't even describe the state as emptiness or void - she simply wasn't there anymore at all, nothing to remember, no Force reaching her, no Force to be reached.

Things that Rey does remember, start with the immense warmth where Kylo put his hand, where the Force was seeping into her body. Upon focusing her eyes, what she's seen - Kylo's face without pain and hatred and darkness, or rather Ben's, with happy sparkles in his eyes, with lovely shy smile - it's the most incredible thing she's ever seen. And what happened next, Rey could spend eternity like this, feeling so safe, wrapped in arms of the good, caring person Ben truly has been, always. But then, something had to snap, just had to. While she was feeling wonderfully alive and bright with the Force as if on fire, he was literally dimming. Then Ben went limp, and so painfully cold - and gone, before they could even have a chance to talk.

I didn't ask you to do this! Say something, talk to me! Come back!

Rey wakes up to her own scream and streams of cold sweat dripping from her body. No matter how hard she tries, when sandstorm comes at night, her thoughts always follow the exact same path. From outside noises to the Emperor, then to Luke and Leia, and eventually to Ben; then she wakes up to the noise coming from her own throat. Rey keeps on reliving the same memory over and over again. Apparently, in her dreams she feels guilty for being alive, for living the life that maybe should belong to somebody else.

Fully awake, Rey does appreciate the gift of life. She's happy when doing simple house chores. She's happy when chatting with farm droids. She's very happy when watching desert sands inhabited by so many various creatures, with Force flowing through every single one of them. At night it gets more difficult though. When her body is at rest, Rey's mind sometimes wanders off into odd places. And them stormy nights, they are always this bad.

BB-8 beeps at Rey reassuringly from a corner, her faithful companion and the only friend. She still shivers, but manages to smile at him. Poor little one, by now he's well used to the night time disruptions, yet is concerned all the same.

Rey desperately needs some rest before the twin suns set up, she has so many tasks planned for the day. She wraps herself tightly in sheets, buries head between pillows and prays: for the storm to pass, for the noises to cease.

If Rey weren't so focused on denying her surroundings, then maybe, just maybe she'd be able to notice faint bluish light just outside her bedroom entrance. She doesn't notice anything though, and soon falls asleep again.

A/N2:
Just to make some things clear: my OTP in Star Wars is RebelCaptain, and that won't change anytime soon. Rogue One is where my heart is, that's what my writing is mostly about.
I'm not really a Reylo shipper. I'm not even a sequel trilogy fan. I do appreciate related stories every now and then, and the pairing grew on me, but I'm not an avid fan. I went for earliest TRoS screening possible to be just done with it. To learn the disastrous ending to the saga, and just happily continue on reading amusing Reylo smut like if nothing had happened.
Indeed, I've managed to shrug off most of distaste over crap treatment literally everybody and everything got in TRoS; it would be case closed, if not for my curiosity. I mean, such a flat graceless ending, chopped off with a dull axe; even with someone who's trying hard to be neutral this doesn't sit right, it doesn't feel like an actual end, but lots of interesting yet wasted possibilities instead. The curiosity made me poke at the aforementioned possibilities, and that's the result of writing down the weirdness produced by my imagination.
Curiosity killed the cat, hope curiosity won't kill this guinea pig. Especially that the fic can go into pretty much any direction with next chapter, if there is ever one.