“If someone had told me of this plague I may never have touched Dromund Kaas,†she said to the spider in her lap, though it couldn’t hear her telepathic murmur. It seemed to understand her anyway, nuzzling its fuzzy head against her stomach before settling in her lap. Ten times as large as the ordinary arachnid, it was an abomination of her sorcerous experimentation on the living, dead, and everything in between. She’d taken a certain affection to the eight-legged thing, naming it Osore and letting it sleep at the end of the bed. Aver wasn’t particularly thrilled about the guest but the spider had a habit of getting its way.
She was talking of course, about Siobhan Kerrigan.
It would be easy to assume hatred compromised the extent of their rivalry, the creaking in Matsu’s spine and the burn marks on her shoulders, the scarring on Siobhan’s face - all of it testament to their clashes. But Matsu wouldn’t have used that word.
Obsession.
She could kill Siobhan. (Not Kerrigan - never Kerrigan. Too impersonal, and she knew her Siobhan.) But the world would be so very empty without the red-headed woman entering a battlefield with fury on her face. What would Matsu do if not sit on the balcony of her penthouse in Point Nadir and think of Siobhan, wonder if the Dark Woman was fearing for her children’s lives, knowing Matsu would one day make plans to sink her claws in to them? Because she’d never wipe Sio from the face of the planet. She would just destroy everything she loved and then keep her for herself - locked away, something nice to own like Osore.
And then there was Enyo.
Osore pushed two sharp front legs in to Matsu’s thighs when she accidentally squeezed too tightly remembering the drop of her stomach the first time she’d seen Enyo Typhos. She looked so much like Siobhan and though she insisted on familial relation something felt wrong about that excuse. But no matter what the truth, Enyo wanted to hurt Siobhan just as much as Matsu did...and there was something to be said for that mutual goal.
Matsu had been trapped beneath rubble when the rogue Silver bombed Korriban City, visions of Reverance from those days on Annaj melting in to Aver covered in blood and peeling the edges of a suit from her shoulders, Siobhan’s face angry and wild in a duel, Nantaris’ lightsaber in the seconds before it landed its wound, Onley’s birth, the first time she watched him kill. It had taken everything she had to escape being crushed and even still she’d broken her shoulder blade - a nasty and agonizing wound that plagued her even as she sat with Osore and let it heal.
And she’d seen Enyo. There was anger there like she might have seen from Siobhan in the same position and at once she’d felt a flurry of emotions nearly indescribable. The lust came first, unnatural and without any of the sordid imagery one might assume. They had looked so alike, Enyo and Siobhan, and for a moment Matsu’s addled mind had assumed the Force had gifted her a broken and half-dead Dark Woman to drag back to her lair and keep, a pet of sorts. But then wonder forced its hand - this wasn’t Siobhan, not that angry command to the souls around her, not that tearing in the Force as it seemed to crackle and break around the girl shorn of limb and torn of mind. She was an entirely different animal, and Matsu once more saw her mantra come true: pain was the path to perfection. Enyo would find herself - her own, individual self - through pain. It had already begun.
Matsu looked up at the underside of the comet that served as Point Nadir’s sky, its rough surface pocked by huge craters that disappeared in to nothingness. It wasn’t as good as stars, but the darkness in those caverns still allowed her to imagine somewhere dark and solitary, comforting. She ran her hand over Osore, twining her fingers around one of his legs.
Firemane had taken Enyo off the field.
But Matsu would find her.
And they would talk of Siobhan.
But then they would talk of Enyo.
She was talking of course, about Siobhan Kerrigan.
It would be easy to assume hatred compromised the extent of their rivalry, the creaking in Matsu’s spine and the burn marks on her shoulders, the scarring on Siobhan’s face - all of it testament to their clashes. But Matsu wouldn’t have used that word.
Obsession.
She could kill Siobhan. (Not Kerrigan - never Kerrigan. Too impersonal, and she knew her Siobhan.) But the world would be so very empty without the red-headed woman entering a battlefield with fury on her face. What would Matsu do if not sit on the balcony of her penthouse in Point Nadir and think of Siobhan, wonder if the Dark Woman was fearing for her children’s lives, knowing Matsu would one day make plans to sink her claws in to them? Because she’d never wipe Sio from the face of the planet. She would just destroy everything she loved and then keep her for herself - locked away, something nice to own like Osore.
And then there was Enyo.
Osore pushed two sharp front legs in to Matsu’s thighs when she accidentally squeezed too tightly remembering the drop of her stomach the first time she’d seen Enyo Typhos. She looked so much like Siobhan and though she insisted on familial relation something felt wrong about that excuse. But no matter what the truth, Enyo wanted to hurt Siobhan just as much as Matsu did...and there was something to be said for that mutual goal.
Matsu had been trapped beneath rubble when the rogue Silver bombed Korriban City, visions of Reverance from those days on Annaj melting in to Aver covered in blood and peeling the edges of a suit from her shoulders, Siobhan’s face angry and wild in a duel, Nantaris’ lightsaber in the seconds before it landed its wound, Onley’s birth, the first time she watched him kill. It had taken everything she had to escape being crushed and even still she’d broken her shoulder blade - a nasty and agonizing wound that plagued her even as she sat with Osore and let it heal.
And she’d seen Enyo. There was anger there like she might have seen from Siobhan in the same position and at once she’d felt a flurry of emotions nearly indescribable. The lust came first, unnatural and without any of the sordid imagery one might assume. They had looked so alike, Enyo and Siobhan, and for a moment Matsu’s addled mind had assumed the Force had gifted her a broken and half-dead Dark Woman to drag back to her lair and keep, a pet of sorts. But then wonder forced its hand - this wasn’t Siobhan, not that angry command to the souls around her, not that tearing in the Force as it seemed to crackle and break around the girl shorn of limb and torn of mind. She was an entirely different animal, and Matsu once more saw her mantra come true: pain was the path to perfection. Enyo would find herself - her own, individual self - through pain. It had already begun.
Matsu looked up at the underside of the comet that served as Point Nadir’s sky, its rough surface pocked by huge craters that disappeared in to nothingness. It wasn’t as good as stars, but the darkness in those caverns still allowed her to imagine somewhere dark and solitary, comforting. She ran her hand over Osore, twining her fingers around one of his legs.
Firemane had taken Enyo off the field.
But Matsu would find her.
And they would talk of Siobhan.
But then they would talk of Enyo.
