Anakin looked at the palm of his metal hand and layers of the dream flipped back through his mind like pages of animation. His hand curled around the memory of a strand of beads - silka beads. How did he know that?
He could recall the weight of them: as airy as the lofty tower he had offered Ahsoka; as laden as filial love when they remained unaccepted in his hand.
Wait!
The plea bit the corners of his eyes.
"You were younger," he said.
He looked up and over at his present companion, cheeks wet. This wasn't fair. One night and he could know such an intimate detail of another person's life. One nap and he could wake feeling things for another person as intricate and real as a lifetime's work at a relationship.