Private The Memory Hole

[Sable Varro]

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The Memory Hole

Note: Thread takes place shortly after The Thin Line

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): N/A
• Secondary Weapon(s): N/A
• Specialized Gear: N/A
• Armor & Attire: N/A

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The medbay was just two corridors away. She knew didn’t have much time, but, just enough perhaps.

Sable stood motionless in her quarters, eyes locked on the mirror. Her reflection stared back, ghost-pale and drawn, a flicker of something brittle hiding behind those crimson irises.

She should've been walking there by now. Serina had requested the exam—requested, not ordered—which meant the woman was still playing the word games. Though it also meant another attached idea. It meant Serina was wanting to gauge where Sable was. If she had any ‘imperfections’.

Well she did. Sable knew that very well.

She felt the fractures.

Sable swallowed hard, fingers brushing against the edge of the sink. Her pulse felt too loud in her ears. Her connections were a weakness, a tired ordeal that weighed her down like a chain.

If she was going to do this, really do this for Serena, she was going to have to make a change.

Not just of prospective, no. Something far worse.

So she would do what she always did when the memories got too close—when they scraped against her ribs and pulled her backward into things she'd buried so deep even her breath forgot them.

She’s just needed to make them go away.

She closed her eyes, let the Force curl inward like a coil of wire pulled taut. She didn’t know much, but she did know about breathing. She felt the rough texture of nails scrap across her mind, her body twitching at the familiar agony.

The mirror caught her reflection in flickering slats of light from the corridor behind her. Sable stood there, arms braced on either side of the sink, breath trembling in her chest. Her collar wasn't sitting right. Her hair was loose. Her eyes looked too red again.

She wasn't supposed to look like this. Not before a medical exam.

Serina would notice.

She shifted her weight, trying to breathe. Trying to ignore the tight coil in her chest. But her mind kept pulling her back—dragging her into memories she didn't want to hold onto. Memories she couldn’t afford to keep.

They’d get in the way, keep her from progressing on.

They’d just be an anchor, like so many other things in her life.

But this wasn’t Alana Calloway’s life anymore. This was Sable’s. This was hers now.

She just needed the extra bits to just…go away. To break free of her chains, and redefine herself.

But how….?

 

[Sable Varro]

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The Memory Hole

Note: Thread takes place shortly after The Thin Line

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): N/A
• Secondary Weapon(s): N/A
• Specialized Gear: N/A
• Armor & Attire: N/A

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She stood in front of the mirror, her reflection a blurry image of someone she didn't quite recognize anymore. She could feel the heat of the room, the pressure of her thoughts building up, knotting in her chest. She had been running—running from herself, from everything. She had always been running. She got good at it. And her mind it wasn’t even running, it was making adjustments. Just riding the currents of life.

That’s what Alana did. She ran because she was a coward. That wasn’t who she wanted to be. Not anymore. Not as Sable.

Commit to Serina, She thought. This could be your chance to have everything you need. To finally let go of the past, of the pain.

But the question lingered. Could she really do this? Could she forget everything she was before? Could she erase the parts of herself that got in the way? That was just nonsense.

Her breath was shallow as she focused on her reflection, her eyes tracing the lines of her face. “I'm not the same person I used to be.”

She repeated it to herself, as a saying it made it true. Of course, that’s not how this worked.

With Serina, there was no room for her past. The woman she had been would have to be erased, gone completely. She knew what it meant to commit—to give up the remnants of her past to be reborn into something else. But could she sacrifice it? Could she really bury everything? Was such a thing even possible?

She had made it so far, surviving a life of chaos and loss, and yet... everything still lingers.

Her hand shook as it hovered over the edge of the sink, tugging at that cord she felt within side her, trying to quiet the pounding of her heart thundering in her ears. Trying to silence the voice that argued with emotion rather than logic.

If I do this, I lose everything, She thought. I lose myself.

Sable closed her eyes, pushing those thoughts away. If she could just make it all stop, remove the doubts, those moronic things that kept her held back. She would be clean. It would be simple. But the prospect, so daunting. She had forgotten things before, things that had shaken her to her core. Her memory had restored them, partly, but clearly there was a trick to it.

It could be done. It had already been done to her.

Just let go. Just forget. Just, make yourself forget.

She reached into the Force, feeling the familiar heat surge through her mind. She felt the brush of nails along the sides of her skull. The dragging made her shudder, her breathing hitched. A white hot pain soon followed, as she allowed her mind to focus.

At first, it was a flicker—a spark. The pain became searing. The memory of her adoptive father flashed before her eyes: Alfonz Calloway, the man who had taken her in, who had shown her kindness. His face was a gentle one, his hands firm, yet soft. He had shown her so much, instilled so much, and like everyone else in her life he was no more. Gone.

She had forgotten his face before. How, or why, she hadn’t known. But it was clearly possible, and if it was possible, there was a chance she could do it.

She pushed harder, the burn spread faster, more uncontrollable. The pain intensified, her legs shook.

She felt as if a flame burned within her skull. The nails that dragged along her skull, now pushed in on all sides. A name, Alfonz, burning away. The face that accompanied it soon caught as well, and like a roll of old tattered film, she felt the memories begin to melt away.

Enduring the agony that came with it.

 

[Sable Varro]

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The Memory Hole

Note: Thread takes place shortly after The Thin Line

Tags: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): N/A
• Secondary Weapon(s): N/A
• Specialized Gear: N/A
• Armor & Attire: N/A

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With Serina, there'd be no room for her past. No remnants. No old scars. To commit would be to burn it all.

She gripped the edges of the sink, her knuckles whitening. The porcelain felt cold beneath her fingers, grounding her just enough to keep her from sinking completely. Her breath rasped through clenched teeth.

Could she really do this?

There was no answer. Just silence. The kind that made your thoughts echo too loud in your skull.

One voice slowly echoed within, hers. Desperate, pleading.

Stop. Please. Just stop. You can't keep doing this.

Her reflection flickered under the dim lighting, warping, shifting—like her face wasn't hers anymore. She saw it change, not in shape, but in essence. The person she was staring at didn't feel like Alana. But she didn't feel like Sable either. Just something in between. Something half-formed.

She wanted to belong to something again. Serina offered her that. Structure. Purpose. A place where she didn't have to flinch at her own shadow.

But the past clung like soot in her lungs.

She'd tried forgetting before—scraping the edges of memory, forcing them into the recesses of her mind. But it always came back. Faces. Names. Guilt.

What if I just pushed harder this time?

Her fingers twitched. Her breathing stuttered. She reached inward—deep into that well of heat and pressure, where the Force coiled, thick and volatile. She found the thread again, that strange rhythm she'd touched before. Not healing, not control—something rawer. Something primal.

A sickening comfort. Her poison of choice.

She didn't know the name for it back then. She barely understood it now. Just a visceral knowledge—this could burn things away. Burn memories.

She swallowed hard.

Just let it go. Just make it stop.

She pulled harder on the thread—dragging it through the meat of her mind. At first, it was a whisper of pain. A flicker behind her eyes. Then it grew—sharp, molten, wrong.

She gasped as fire bloomed behind her temples.

A name surfaced unbidden—Alfonz. And just as quickly, it caught.

She felt it burn.

His face, the way he held a blaster like it was an extension of his soul, the warmth in his gravelly voice when he called her kiddo—all of it, gone. Unraveled by heat and light and a searing tear that left a hollow pit behind.

It wasn't clean. It wasn't surgical. It was a tear. A violent rip through her psyche.

Her knees buckled. She caught herself on the sink, choking on a ragged breath. The room spun.

Then came another face—she didn't even know whose—just a pair of eyes, the shape of a jawline, a scent of dust and rain—and it too, burned. She didn't even stop to name it. It had to go. They all had to go.

Names bled through her skull: Valery. Everest. Reina, Neiya, Tamsin, Konor, Neriya.

"I know how much it messes with your head. How hard it is to figure out where you're supposed to fit in a galaxy that's already moved on without you."

"So, what're yer plans after this job? Don't sweat, I'm not asking you out or anythin'"

"You don't even need to ask Alana. If you need a shoulder or a hand or anything. Just take it. You don't need to ask me. I'll be there."

"Listen, I've not exactly been honest with you..."

"Kindness... is free... you know? At least, it should be, and if it's not, then it's not real kindness."

"I mean not being alone is a good start to helping yourself. All wounds can be healed."

They meant something once. These names, these faces.

Now they were baggage. Dead weight. Echoes of failure.

Reminders of her.

They can't exist, She thought, teeth clenched. They just make it worse.

She pulled again, dragging the fire deeper, forcing it into the corners of her mind where they hid.

Her body trembled as more pieces peeled away—faces torn in half, conversations dissolved into static, memories twisted and scorched until all that was left was pain.

The deeper she went, the less control she had. The Force stopped obeying her, and became a storm raging through her own mind.

Her ears rang. Her vision blurred. The taste of iron filled her mouth. The nails dug in deep, harder, her head dropped down, smacking against the corner of the sink. The pain was immense, it flared through her eyes, pulsed in her ears, she felt her jaw lock, nails broke against the sink.

And yet.

She couldn't stop.

She had to forget.

Her own name faltered on the edge of her thoughts, caught in the blaze.

And still, she kept going.

Until all that remained was white noise, and the distant echo of a girl who once ran too far, and forgot where she began.

Alana Calloway had to die, for Sable Varro to live.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

The Memory Hole

Note: Thread takes place shortly after The Thin Line

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): N/A
• Secondary Weapon(s): N/A
• Specialized Gear: N/A
• Armor & Attire: N/A

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Sable's grip on the sink tightened until her knuckles were white, her head spinning with the assault on her mind. It would be so easy, she thought, just to let it burn away. To forget. To make it stop. Her breath came in ragged gasps as the flames of the Force swirled within her, pushing her toward that precipice where she'd lose herself entirely. The pain was unbearable, but she didn't stop. She couldn't.

She couldn't destroy every memory, but she could remove enough. Enough to disconnect from Alana. Enough to just be ALONE. Each burned to ash in her mind, like unwanted weight, forcing her further down into the fire. They were nothing now. Only shadows.

And yet... beneath the rage and fire, there was a flicker of something more. A memory of a hand on her shoulder, a whisper of comfort, a voice that said I'll be there. But no. She couldn't allow it. She clenched her teeth and forced her focus back. There was no room for those fragile things. Only what was left behind. The only way forward was through the ashes. Her own name, Alana, seemed to burn in her throat, choking her as if the very act of holding onto it would shatter her. Alana Calloway had to die for Sable Varro to live. With one last tear through the veil, she felt the pieces of herself break free, evaporating into the fire. The memories faded into the white noise of nothingness. And Sable Varro, the woman who would live, stood there alone.

Serina was the only one that could accept her. That would accept her.

"I think of you as so much more than just a plaything."

"Then you never have to be alone again."

"If you wanted to get yourself killed, you could have just asked me to do it instead of making me chase your half-feral ass through a forcedamned death trap."

"Every time I have given you control, every single time I have loosened my grip, you've either run or gotten yourself hurt."

She had done all this to herself. At the end of it all, it was her fault, for everything.

When the pain grew worse, when she wanted to cease the pain, she held onto that one true notion.

She deserved, all of this.

The pain inside her skull exploded, a horrific wave of agony that gripped every fiber of her being. Her head throbbed with such force that the room tilted dangerously, her vision blurring at the edges. Blood seeped from her nostrils, hot and slick, staining the sink beneath her. The pulse in her temples beat erratically, like an internal war. She could feel her mind—her brain—cracking under the pressure. Memory after memory tore itself apart with sickening snaps, her focus was nonexistent, as she just purged whatever came to mind in her agonizing haze.

Her vision went white, then flickered to black. Her breath hitched, her body trembling violently as it fought the overwhelming, suffocating heat surging through her. Her fingertips dug into the porcelain, the edges sharp, but it did nothing to ground her. The room spun, violently.

Something was breaking.

A series of memories—bits of her—burned, withering away, consumed by the chaotic force she had unleashed. She could feel herself slipping, the last shreds of Alana's existence being torn from her like fabric. There was no going back now. They flayed about like burning film, no finesse, no guile, just brute force, and all the complications that brought with it.

A sickening sense of hollow emptiness began to take root. No one had ever told her it would feel like this. No one would ever know she had done this. No one would care.

The blood thickened at the back of her throat. Another wave of dizziness crashed over her, and for a moment, she swayed on the verge of collapsing. Her legs felt like they might give way at any second, but she fought it. Stay with it. Just stay with it. This needs to happen. The struggle to breathe became a battle against the agony in her chest, but she held onto the thread of destruction, pulling until the last remnants of the girl who had been Alana disappeared into the void.
Finally, silence.

The storm subsided. The burning in her mind faded into a painful, pulsing ache that was still far too much to endure. But the process was done. She was empty now. Hollowed out. The weight of her past erased, wiped clean. But at what cost?
Sable trembled, her knees weak, feeling like she had just ripped apart the very fabric of who she was. Her blood still dripped from her nose, staining the white porcelain sink beneath her. She couldn't even feel the burn on her skin anymore, the residue of the fire she had used to cleanse herself.

Was it worth it?

Only time would tell.

She struggled for breath, her vision blurred, as she laid on the floor of her quarters. Her head was splitting, her palms bleed from where her nails had dug in at, and she felt as if she was swimming in a haze.

A small, quiet question bubbled as she rose. She could almost hear the voice that accompanied it, as she struggled to rise.

"Do you have anywhere to stay, Alana?"

No. Not anymore.

She wouldn't need anywhere else to stay, not anymore.

Not as long as Serina would take her.