Dear Vrag,
Sometimes I still blame you for my death. I tell myself that you could have frakking done something. That you should have picked up on the chite I was telling you. I thought I gave you enough karking hints about who I was. Evidently I did not. Otherwise I might still be alive. Just... sheik. What frakking Imperial schutta hasn't heard of my family? Maybe we've messed druk up recently, yeah. Maybe we've faded a bit from the Empire's sight... but kark it, we aren't really that forgotten, are we?... Kriffing hell, mate, why am I even asking you? You're one of the Sith-spit shebs who had no idea who my family was. Who my family is.
But it's not your fault that my idiot of a father messed chite up for us. It's him that got us sent to the metaphoric bottom of the barrel with the rest of the shucks who failed. He's the one that hid my force powers from the world, that killed his own kin to save his skin, that tried to sell out the Empire so that he could maybe survive the crash. If I should be mad at anyone, it's that snarker. Admittedly, I shouldn't be pissed at you for killing me either. You didn't know that I was a sleeper agent. You didn't know that I was trying to crinking keep my God-varp cover. It's not your fault, Vrag. It was never your fault.
Yet I still hate you. I can't think about that stupid fething mug of yours without cringing. Without wanting to smash something with my own two hands. Except I can't, you hear me? I can't. Because I'm just a skrogging ghost who's trying to be useful. That anger though... that God-damned anger... Sith use that to their advantage, don't they? Someone fraks them up and they get mad. Mad enough to do some chit about it. They throw around lightning, conjure up some fething fireballs, or, you know, decapitate someone. Sound familiar? Of course it does. You've killed a lot of schuttas, Vrag, but not many have haunted your shebs. You can't have forgotten me already. Right?...
Chite, I've gotten off track. Did that in my last letter, too. There was a point to all of that karking druk up there. I think I was going to go off on you. Tell you about how much I hate your kriffing arse 'n all that shavit. Or maybe I was going to say that my burning, yet irrational, hatred of you could do me a favor. Maybe I'm dead, and maybe that should have put me out of the frakkin' game. But that doesn't mean I have to just go back to Chaos- back to hell. Being so thoroughly... enraged can be a damn fine motivator. It can make a person do insane, horrible things. It can also be the thing that ensures their victory- their drukking survival.
The hell does this mean? Do you get what I'm frakking saying? No? Well, feth this, I'll just tell you. I'm thanking your bloody arse for that chite you pulled back on Cularin. You better appreciate that, you Vong-loving sculag. I don't thank people often. Especially not those who have hurt me. And you? When it comes to karking me over, you take the mother-fething biscuit, Vrag. No one else killed me, clearly, and no one else even came close. I guess there's a reason you're one of the Dark Lord's Hands (that's a stupid frakking title, by the way). Then again, you fought me when I was at my worst, so, to be crikking honest, I have no idea if you're as tough as the schuttas say.
I'm getting off topic again. Not that it matters, really, you aren't actually going to read this, and I have all the time in the galaxy. You see, that's another thing I can thank you for. Most people think that death is the end. That dying means losing all your power. Hell, Sith Lords and the like have searched for the key to immortality since the dawn of existence. They think that death is something to fear. You showed me that it's not. Oh, no, it's not something to hate. It's something that should be embraced. Dying made me stronger than I ever was alive. People can't touch me this way. They can't touch a ghost.
But I can touch them. The thing is, Vraggy dear, force ghosts don't lose all of their powers. I can still burn chit with flames, I can still lift a boulder without moving a muscle, and I can still crush the minds of others. There's more though. That's not all that this 'cursed' turn of events has given me. Spirits can go anywhere they want, as long as they've been there before, in the blink of an eye. And trust me, I've been to a lot of frakking places. Wherever I'm needed, wherever I want to go, I can fething be there in a second. If you ask me, losing the ability to connect with people is a small price to pay for that kind of thing.
When you killed me, you opened up doors I didn't know existed. You'd think I'd stop hating you then, right?... That would make the most sense. But power is one thing, drive, motivation, is another. I'll keep hating you until I find something else to push me forward. I'll keep clawing my way through the afterlife until I get what I want: The safety of my people or your head on a frakking stick. When I get that? Heh, hell if I know. Maybe I'll finally go back to Chaos. Or maybe I'll find a new goal. Some other Sith I want dead. In the mean time, watch your head. My thanks will only last for so long... and you can't fight death, Vrag. No one can.
Then again, death is a gift. Just accept it. It'll make things to come a lot easier.
Drapeam Sahara Nyx
D.S. Nyx, Lady Medax
P.S: Imperial Intelligence would like to thank you for recovering one of their agents.