"You're the last of the Jedi, Rey. The last Skywalker. I have no right to claim that for myself, not after what I've done," he said, a firm statement of fact. Fleeing the temple, he'd known that he had forfeited his place among the Jedi Order, and whatever redemption he might've earned in death couldn't change that.

"I wanted you. When we fought in the snow. You bested me, and I... I lost my way. All I could think of was you. It was twisted and selfish. I wanted to possess you for my own—" He cut himself off, drawing in a shuddering breath, his jaw working anxiously.

"To feed my own power. I might've killed you." He reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I wish I could be as forgiving as you are," he admitted, then, with a faint flicker of a smile, he added, "Or are you as selfish as I am?"

It was easy, perhaps, to forgive someone you were bound to through fate.