[ for her, there is no earth, and so she sees nothing wrong with the version of events that is being described — no, her attention in the presentation is based on something more than simply a desire to learn about the place she's been transported to.

droids, she thinks faintly, they could have been droids. or clones.

when asked (perhaps by you, perhaps by someone else) whether she wants to enter the virtual reality, to witness the great triumph, she shakes her head with a polite smile that doesn't quite light up her eyes. ]

No, thank you. I think I've had enough of war. [ she knows what it looks like... and always it looks the same. ]

[ after she realizes what happens every time she touches someone, she shies away from it entirely, purposefully holds herself back from being too close to anyone else, whether on the street or in the safehouse.

but during those first days, before she's quite adjusted to it all, she isn't quite so careful, and so whether it is arms brushing accidentally when leaving the safehouse, or perhaps she's reaching out to steady herself after a too-eager hoverblade racer decides to practice on the street and disturbs the crowd... what comes after is —

(determination, steel, responsibility, duty —)

but above all else, there's a sense of loss, all-encompassing and final. ]

Among those of us who have woken here, who of you come from a galaxy? Who were used to traveling between different planets? I never thought to question it, or how commonplace even just the possibility was, but it seems not to have been the norm for everyone.

[ your standard wildcard prompt, fire away! ]