I remember that day on Scarif. It was a beautiful, balmy 78 degrees out. The beaches were bluer than the eyes of a lover. The X-Wings flew in without warning and lit up the ground, blowing the sand up into the sky with them. As though they were trying to blind the AT-ATs that stomped over the rebels. My favorite was when they missed the rebels and stomped on the storm troopers, staining their white shell-like armor red. I will wrap this cloth around my torso to remind me of the day that Jyn Erso died.
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