She remembers a time when hyperspace meant warmth and company instead of desolate cold, but she remembers only the shape of it, like a word stuck on the tip of her tongue. These days, Ahsoka remembers little and hears much: the whispers of a past she can't escape, the silence of known death, the sinister murmurs of the Dark.

She hears voices, many of them, calling to her and laughing with her and crying (out) for her, and she's careful not to name any of them for fear they might come alive, and she's careful not to name any of them for fear of admitting the voices are all hers.