My first fanfic! First off, I'm going to take a moment to feel proud of myself...
Okay. Done. This is a (later note: ridiculously long) KotOR LSF fic, for anyone who still reads that stuff/plays the game *coughcoughme...*

**Note--anyone who's trying to avoid spoilers (though it's a little late for most of us) might want to skip this chapter...

Disclaimer: Bioware's, not mine.

Prologue: (theater) an introductory scene, preceding the first act

There were five people in the room.

There were six bodies.

Five of the bodies were standing, circled around a small and simple cot. The sixth lay there, subject to all of their guarded gazes. Her eyes were closed, and she lay motionless, except for the small, almost imperceptible intake of breath every other moment: the only proof she was alive. Despite her appearance, however, nothing short of comatose, she was physically fine. Scar tissue was the worst sign of the trauma the skin and bones before them had seen. Her body still looked like some mad artist, in a flood of inspiration, had marred it with lines that hadn't quite erased, but it still bore none of the horrific wounds it should have.

Well. Not visibly, anyway.

She had not stirred for a while, not like the beginning. Then, she had woken often, her moods volatile—sometimes bewildered, sometimes violently angry (actually, often, if they were being totally honest), sometimes, most surprising of all. Sometimes, she would simply stare at the ceiling, her face pensive and unreadable, until they were unsure if she was thinking or simply lost in her own mind.

However, as the memories faded, so did the character, and she soon stopped waking. There would be nothing there if she had. She was alive, technically, but she was no longer a person.

A diminutive figure, green with large, bat-like ears, stood closest to the girl. All the others, in forming their ring, had unconsciously given themselves at least a foot of room between themselves and the cot. They were still afraid of her, although they would never admit it. Only the littlest one was not afraid—necessity would not allow him to be.

Every wary gaze was trained on him as he stood with one hand held out, eyes closed. Something almost was swirling from the girl's forehead into the center of his palm, flowing like water through the skin. It was less tangible than mist, of course, but had a thousand times the composition. Flashes of color, blurred faces and landscapes were embroidered through it, a tapestry of the woman's life.

Like watching light fracture through a crystal, one could squint at it and pick out scenes from particular angles, but from afar it was simply incoherent. The youngest Jedi, a dark-haired girl with icy eyes, was unable to help thinking how it was almost sad—one of the most notorious prodigies of the galaxy, everything that made her herself, passing unceremoniously through the air before them. This was a life they were seeing, and yet all it seemed to be was a blur of visual traffic. It felt invasive, almost. None of what they saw was meant for their eyes.

But it was necessary. This was their only option: she understood that, and she had faith in them. Her reservations were not strong enough to turn her away from the spectacle; she watched with fascination and in silence, along with the other three beside her. She had never seen memories before, and suspected she never would again.

However, captivating as it was, she was struggling to ignore the unsettling draining sensation, both in the back of her mind and the pit of her stomach. They'd already explained to her about bonds, about the connection. She hoped it would fade. The thought of being tied to this woman, harmless as she and her memories appeared, was half thrilling and half terrifying, and the fact that it was thrilling at all disturbed her.

The small Jedi's brow furrowed slightly as he reached further into the mind. It had been much harder than any of them could have foreseen to erase all the memories. They had hoped it would be like a tree, where they could trim off all the overgrowth and graft the new mind into hers, letting the two simply grow together… but, of course, she wouldn't be that predictable. Her mind was more like a spiderweb, if anything—the memories were tangled and ensnared into deep corners, and near impossible to remove. They had to cut away all the experiences, and yet without losing the character: a difficult job, and requiring incredible precision.

Moreover, they all felt the need to be even more careful, because of how damaged she was already. The worst of her wounds were invisible: her mind had been shattered beyond repair, broken a thousand times worse than her body. The Jedi had to remind themselves of this often: that it wasn't erasing her; it was saving her. Trying to patch her fractured mind back together could only serve to destroy her completely.

What had surprised them most, throughout the process, were the memories she seemed to cling to tightest. All the ones of the darkness, her time after she had fallen, were lost or removed with surprising ease. The same applied to her childhood before the Academy, short as it had been, and to her lessons thereafter. However, she had held on to her memories of friends and allies with stubborn possessiveness. This held especially true for her memories of best friend, before their fall.

Her determination to keep hold of those reflected her character before, and it gave all the elders in the room a feeling of nostalgia. Even then, what seemed like a lifetime ago, this girl who now lay before them—dead by all rights—had been loyal to a fault to those she deemed her friends. Some of the Jedi were eager to point out how this could mean she hadn't necessarily lost herself.

The obvious counterargument was also rooted in her ruined mind: the memories of her and her friend's quest from before, their slow path to the dark side. These were less like treasures she clung to, and more like stains. They had tried to erase them as best they could. They were not sure they had succeeded.

And yet, trying as that had been, this was the hardest part. They had taken her memories in the order they came, most recent fading to the first of all. It had been taken as a given that they would leave her with her youngest recollections; those could be woven easily into the prosthetic mind. However, anything of her time in the Order had to go, from the time she'd joined them at age seven.

The little Jedi was seeing all that the other four saw, and more, but with none of the chaos that amount of information should have presented. He saw grass and fields that seemed never-ending through her wide eyes; he saw himself and his friends, painted with heroism—this, he reminded himself, would later fade; and worst of all, he heard her young, innocent laugh at something her new friend Alek had just said. The boy was as gawky as the Jedi remembered, built with too much knee and elbow, but she seemed to see something in him nonetheless.

And now… here were the two of them, racing down a path to the Enclave…

Here was the arrival on Dantooine, with she herself barely more than a toddler. She recalled with startling clarity stepping off the starship and eyeing the surrounding nervously, all the while clinging to a faceless parent's hand…

Here was the flight there—she had never been in a starship before, and spent the entire ride staring out the window. Later she would look at the planets with a calculating eye, plotting attacks and ambushes and tactics, but this memory now held nothing but wonder…

And then, blurry with confusion, came the conversation she'd overheard between her parents, and a small voice—her own?—asking, "What's 'Force-sensitive' mean?"…

Enough, he thought desperately, his hand spasming down with a jerk of protest. Surely he'd taken enough memories—and partially, he knew, he wanted to see no more. This wasn't a monster whose eyes he had been looking through. This woman, however vicious and corrupt, had once been a child, and it was worse than seeing her as a mastermind had bee.

His eyes, two black twinkles in a leathery face, slid open. The girl on the bed gave a jerk as the string of memory disappeared, and then a long sigh, that, if romanticized, could have been called peaceful. The small figure looked up at the others, and his voice was almost—almost—mournful, as he murmured, "It is done."

They all looked at each other now, the older faces set masklike and inscrutable. The youngest, the dark-haired girl, looked uncertain as to how to act, so she settled for the small, reserved nods of the others.

"Her mind is clean?" pressed the dark-skinned man.

/Empty/ corrected a red-skinned Twi'lek quietly. /It is empty./

A tall, sour-looking man gave the Twi'lek a sharp look, but he simply shrugged, his face slightly unapologetic.

"Then… the other memories?" asked the dark-skinned man, breaking the sudden tension as he turned to the smallest one.

The little Jedi nodded. They had created a new mind for her, new memories to fit in the place of the old ones. Of course, they had wanted to make her simple, a one-dimensional soldier to serve them eagerly, but she had never been that way before. Though they could have forced the character into place, it would be the same as trying to jam together mismatched puzzle pieces, and might damage the mind they had worked so hard to save.

So, they had created a new persona. It was more unpredictable, more unstable than the Republic soldier or scout they had envisioned, but it fit her. It was the opposite of who she had been, doubtless, but exactly the same.

The only thing left to do was to see if it would work.

The small Jedi would not show it, but he was tired, and his concentration could not afford to fail now. He nodded, and all the other elders moved closer in anticipation of the final task. The dark-haired girl backed away a little, shrinking into the corner.

The little Jedi, the ringleader, reached out a gnarled hand toward the girl on the bed, placing it on her forehead. He closed his eyes for a long moment, drawing a deep breath, and when he reopened them they glittered with a new level of perception. He saw more with the Force than with his eyes now, and felt the consciousnesses of the other Jedi brushing against his own, offering their assistance. He exhaled slowly, and then began to focus.

A sudden shimmering light appeared at his fingertips, curling outwards like smoke; it swirled along her skin, half liquid and half serpent. Slowly, it traced the sides of her face and wound down her neck, around her chest: encircling her. When it reached her heart, however, it suddenly began to sink through her skin.

She jerked suddenly, much more violently, spasms wracking her frame as her head jerked upright, eyelids flying open. The dark-haired girl, drawn by a morbid curiosity, stared at her eyes as they changed slowly from flashing gold to a milky white, blind and fearsome. Her fiery hair was tossed about as the convulsions traveled up her next, jarring her head from side to side.

/Should we stop?/ demanded the Twi'lek in an anxious murmur.

The small Jedi shook his head. "We cannot," he replied quietly.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, her thrashing stopped. She went limp, and relaxed onto the bed. Her eyes slipped closed again.

There was a pause, as they all held their breath.

"Did it work, Masters?" the dark-haired girl asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them. The sour man glared sharply at her, and the Twi'lek and the dark-skinned man shrugged uncertainly, but the little Jedi did not respond. His gaze was fixed intently on the girl's face, uncertain as to quite what he wanted to see.

And then her eyes drew slowly open.

They were no longer white, but a strong, intense blue, and they blinked a couple times before fixing on the people surrounding her with calm puzzlement. The red Twi'lek was the first to speak, surprising everyone as he stepped forward. The blue eyes darted to him, their gaze piercing. She sat up, almost defensively, as he came a step closer.

"Who are you?" he asked, almost afraid to hear what she would say.

There was a pause, even more suspenseful than the last, as she frowned slightly. Then she grinned calmly at him, and certainty was clear in her voice and expression as she replied.

"Ashi. Ashi Lucas."

Not too long, but prologues don't have to be, I hope…