Scherezade didn't hold her laughter back when
Valery Noble
said she'd expected much worse, not some rando girl hunting for food. Either this Jedi was the most unjudgmental person in the galaxy, or she had a concussion. Scherezade decided she liked her. Her questions were honest, open, and without any attempt for that silly small talk stuff that Scherezade always felt that she was really bad it. It was especially refreshingly so considering the one sitting across her was a Jedi. Though it was true that Scherezade's best friend had been one too, most of the others she'd met were stuffy and a lot less fun.
But when Valery shook her head, Scherezade stopped laughing. She was absolutely reading the misbelief as disappointment and it almost felt like she'd failed some sort of test. It wasn't a feeling she particularly enjoyed. A pause, and then things were light again. Okay. Scherezade felt like she could handle that.
Grin!
"C'mon," she motioned as she stood up. The Jedi was going to get a look at the inside of her ship, something that no other Jedi had done for over four decades. And with good reason.
"I was invisible for the first part in my life that mattered," she explained as she began to walk up the rank,
"people didn't notice me, or not like me, even when I tried my very best." It had been a hard time. She had tried everything she could at the time, from being creative, to being friendly, to even infiltrating enemy locations well in advance to make sure their drinking water had been spiked with extreme laxatives for when the cavalry showed up. But none of her achievements had gotten her affirmations, or a single friend.
"And like, it's been a while," she admitted,
"but when I'm alone, the old sense of self surfaces again, even if everything is totally different today. I like it better today."
The two stepped into the ship.
Scherezade turned around, her glowing green eyes falling on the Jedi, wanting to take in her every tiny reaction.
Because the inside of the ship looked perfectly normal to the eye. The walls had nice paint on them, a bunch of memorabilia was thrown around, there was even a plush carpet in the central area. But that was just for the eyes. So it ship looked clean. But beneath the surface, something ancient and wounded pulsed. If Valery didn't shield herself, the whisper of old blood magic might just reach her bones.
Because fourty years ago, that was not what the walls or floor had looked like. They had been covered in writings from floor to ceiling. Writings made in blood. Scherezade's blood, from when she cast the spell that had done away with her and instilled a new personality in her body, hoping it would somehow lead to a better result. Because Scherezade had a mirror, so she knew she was pretty. She also knew where she came from and the power that came with it. But nobody liked her. Something about her was
broken. So she tried to mend it.
Of course, it had, eventually, failed. But those were stories for another time, if the Jedi didn't run away screaming.
While the blood was no longer visible, the
power of it still beat in the ship. Strong, overbearing, ready to rip and resow with chaos. One could almost taste the pits of despair the Sith had been in when it happened.
Over the years, Scherezade had chosen to keep the ship, even renovate it. This was part of her past, and therefore, a part of her. If a day would come in which she wanted to release the ship to someone else or destroy it, she would. Instead, she had taken to the remnants of the blood ritual, and learned how to shield herself from it. To walk around her ship and feel like it was a beachside condo.
Trauma had scarred her on many occasions, but this was was one scar that she chose to keep. And control.