SWTOR Bedisa: Death

She stood upright before the sink, carefully re-wrapping the wound on her side. The kolto had begun it’s good work, now it was simply a matter of pain management and dressing. Keeping it clean was simple common sense, and she had been lucky. The blaster had grazed her, leaving a nasty gouge but not doing much more damage. Really, she’d done the worst herself, starting the heavy bleeding when her movements had opened the instant-cauterized wound.

Such a charming smile, even if it had a bit of teeth behind it. A gentle voice, smooth manners, a silver tongue. And a wickedly sharp mind. Fascinating and appealing.

She placed a couple of tabs over the dressing, holding the gauze in place, and reached for her top. The face in the mirror didn’t change expression. She would have to take it easy for the next day or two, maybe get another kolto treatment to insure a speedy recovery. She wouldn’t know if… her thoughts trailed off as she looked out the window of the Dromund Kaas apartment. She might be called up again.

Oh, he was so handsome. Older then her, much older, but with a look in his eye and that smile on his face…her heart trembled a bit. She blushed. She smiled. He was Sith, of course. Maybe that was part of it. Attraction to danger. But he wasn’t dangerous. Not to her.

She sat down slowly, resting her hand on the broad window sill as the near eternal rain fell down. Darkness. There was so much darkness here, but she felt safe, hidden within the swirls of this Shadow side of the Force, covered by the darkness of storm clouds. Very strange, that. Once she would have been horrified. Once she would have…not killed, not like she had done, but it was what had to be done now, wasn’t it? The captain had been in grave danger. Vanessa was being struck by nightmares. He… she blinked and looked away from the window. Gods, how had she missed the signs in the woman, Cheska. That had nearly been a disaster.

She couldn’t stop thinking about him. Even in her fear, in what the Council would do if they found out…he told her the same, and it seemed that fear lifted. He cared for her too! He thought about her. He lusted after her, his eyes said. His words, and that smile again. She was falling. 

Death, she thought. They’d been taught about that on Tython, on how to deal with it, with grief, and in the advanced classes, for those who showed some combat proficiency, they were taught how to deal with the heavier burdens it brought. How to kill. When to do it. A last resort. Words before actions. Counselling. They’d been surprised to find her there, the bookworm, the researcher. The little librarian. But she had had to learn how to fight, and she never did things half way. She might not be proficient, but skill came with training… her parents had given her up for a better life here, after all. She would do right by them, no matter what. But oh…death. In that moment, how easy it had been.

There, it was done. She could see the connection back to Tython fading. Of course she’d been doubting for several years, since she was a teen, or maybe earlier. The research didn’t support it. Logic didn’t. Flaws and flawed, his words murmured, and she believed him. Trusted. So much wiser, so much harder. So much more experience. It supported her own ideas. He troubled her sometimes, but…then there was the charm, and the words. Love. Strength. Warmth, of sorts. He was worth this. He was worth leaving that world behind.

Her hands twisted on the sill, then raised up, tracing the rain patterns. She had changed. Something had just…clicked. The captain needed help. SHe’d gone and done it. She’d been meditating a lot lately, after all. On the Force. On it’s balance. Practicing. That had soothed her. Focusing on the telekinesis had always been a strength of hers, outside of her academics. Not just in lifting and pushing, but in the finer details. Moving water into balls or pretty shapes, dancing bits of pollen or flowers. And it had opened other doors, especially since she became free of the restrictions of Tython. The body, how it moved. How simple it was to push something in a human, or any sentient being, and make it break. Or stop it. It was just little movements, after all, no harder to move with the Force then the most basic of exercises they taught children. You just needed to focus more inwards.

She could see the teeth behind the smiles more clearly now. The arrogance that gave him strength. The hardness that gave him his edge, and how razor sharp that edge was. She was repelled and yet fascinated still. Still falling in love, being drawn in. Deeper each day. It began to hurt, which led to fights. Worry.  She rebelled against him, against her own crumbling philosophy. Did he still love her?

She pressed her forehead on the glass, seeking the coolness as her thoughts slipped further and further away from her. Tears. Something inside her hurt. Hurt deeply. Cutting. She had killed them so easily. She should feel worse about that. Viessa had been horrified. She should be too. She felt worse for the girl’s reaction then her own. It was what had to be done. Gangster and thieves and murderers, hunting her friend. It had to be done. They knew the risks of their life. She took several deep breaths, trying to find a centre that kept dancing away. Focus. What had become of her? Why did she rebel? Why did he…

She could still remember that first time. Those gentle touches, whispers, soft hands. Hours of it, careful attention, smiles, love. A softness in him she was finding harder and harder to see again. He was a creature of anger, of arrogance. The child helped, but at what cost? She was trying. He wanted her to be something, she wanted him to be something. She was young. A fool. She had a temper. She couldn’t change him, but she didn’t want to. She craved him still. She wanted to help him. She wanted…

Her fists clenched. The pain grew deeper, and she struggled to find her calm. Oh gods, how she wanted him. Things were not so easy. She had felt herself drfiting away even as she changed, watching him in his damned tantrums, his delusions of rightness…but what was right? Why couldn’t she find that path? Her light swung back and forth, creating shadows and no clear footing.

Light help her. 

She closed her eyes and laid her head back, breathing hard as tears crept down her face. Light help her, for she loved a Sith. Light help her, because she had killed without much remorse. With ease. Light help her, because she did not need it any longer. Shadows reached out, and the grey took her path. A child, and a child’s heart. A man’s strength and anger and love. What a dance she had coming. What pain. She must find something to grasp onto as her life, her very self, began to turn on it’s head.

And she still remembered his sweet charm.