When she removed the helmet, Phasma allowed the streak of her hair fall over her forehead. She felt almost naked without it. Even if she was now alone, keeping the helmet on was one of her superlatives. This was how her enemies have seen her, her troops have heard her orders. This was her shield before the galaxy and her symbol. She used it as second skin and did it wisely and efficiently.
She touched her face, her fingers sliding through her cheek to stay on the lips.
Only I know how I look.
She didn’t like her look and didn’t hate it. It was only something reserved for her.
Only I know who I am.