Private Lost But Found?

[Darth Virelia]

"Expectations."

Tags - The Lost

The throne room of Malachor was a cathedral of obsidian and silence. The jagged stone walls seemed to lean inward, hungrily listening to the breath of the one who sat at its heart. Darth Virelia lounged across her throne as though it had been carved for her alone, a chalice of deep crimson wine balanced loosely in her hand. Shadows clung to her like velvet, shifting at her slightest motion.

The glass tilted, and she watched the liquid swirl, half her focus on the reflections it cast. It amused her, this game of seeing what patterns the light chose to draw across her pale knuckles. Five minutes. That was the margin she had given the young one. She could almost taste the tension that must be swelling in their chest as they made their way through the labyrinth halls.

Virelia's lips curved faintly at the thought. Youth made for such delicious volatility: pride that burned too hot, fear that refused to be named, desire that lingered just beneath their careful facades. It was why she entertained them, why she allowed them into her orbit. The galaxy was filled with Sith who thought themselves predators. She alone enjoyed the hunt as much as the meal.

Her eyes slid toward the sealed doors. Not yet. She tipped her head back against the throne, lashes lowering half-shut. The hum of Malachor's wounded core shivered faintly beneath the stone floors, a constant reminder that she sat upon a graveyard of empires. It was an appropriate stage for her amusements.

She wondered what face the young Sith would wear today. Confidence? Defiance? Trembling obedience? She preferred when they tried to mask themselves—every mask could be broken, and she relished the sound of it cracking. Today she had chosen a small test, a training exercise disguised as indulgence. The young Sith thought themselves clever; she would measure whether their wit sharpened into steel, or dulled under the weight of her hand.

Her free hand drifted along the carved armrest, nails trailing in slow rhythm. She could already imagine the tension when they entered: the way the silence would hang, the way her gaze would strip them down before a single word was spoken. She would let them speak first, always. That was where the cracks showed.

Virelia drank, the taste dark and spiced, lingering against her tongue. "Four minutes," she murmured softly, though no one else was there to hear it. The room seemed to stir at her voice regardless, as if Malachor itself bent to her amusement.

Her boredom was not discontent; it was hunger held at bay. She savored the stillness before the storm, the knowledge that someone else's future was about to be rewritten under her careful hands.

When the young Sith arrived, she would not need to raise her voice. The game would begin with nothing more than her smile.

 

[The Lost]

Fear.

It was an understatement of the emotion she felt when the command came. It was bad enough she was just trying to go unseen in the temple, that she wasn't going to have eyes on her as more than some rankless acolyte that was likely to be dead in the next month. That suited her fine, especially if she could fake her death and break out of this hold around her.

This summon would ruin that. She could feel the eyes on her, staring, glaring, as she hurried in a near sprint through the halls. They knew. She was a nobody, but why was she summoned by the Dark Lady? What did she have that they didn't? They were going to try and find out. Her anomality was fading by the second, they'd rip apart any sense of privacy she had and learn everything-.

A blur of blue had her suddenly before the grand chamber. All her fear had hurried her walk more than she wanted. That desperation was only another knock on her reputation, on the information she let others know. Anger flashed in her expression, but that was tampered down with the fear of what was just on the other side of the door.

The Dark Lady.

She cleared her throat, stamped down those emotions as best she could. She knew this feeling. In the back alleys, it was no different then when one of the gangsters decided they wanted to feel superior. The door opened as she took a few steps in, then immediately knelt, head bowed. Stay small, stay humble. Don't give them a reason to lash out. Don't be worth their attention.

".. You called for me?"

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Expectations."

Tags - The Lost

The throne room's silence deepened as the acolyte's voice trailed off, swallowed whole by the obsidian vaults. Virelia shifted languidly in her seat, wineglass turning in her fingers, the faint clink of liquid against crystal the only reply for several long heartbeats. She did not look at the girl immediately—oh no, that would have been far too generous. Instead, she let her eyes wander lazily over the chamber, as if deciding whether or not the presence groveling before her was worthy of even interrupting her boredom.

At last, she let her gaze fall. Violet light caught in her eyes, a cruel gleam, her lips curving into something that was not quite a smile. "I did," she purred, voice low, velvet laced with steel. The chalice tilted again, red spilling across her tongue before she set it aside with deliberate care. "And you came running, like a frightened little thing chased by shadows. That pleases me more than defiance would."

She rose from her throne in a movement smooth as a predator uncoiling. Each step down the carved dais echoed with controlled weight, her silhouette a slow inevitability descending toward the bowed head before her. She stopped just close enough that the faint whisper of her robes brushed the acolyte's shoulders.

"Lift your eyes." Not a command barked, but an invitation draped in silk, dangerous in its softness. "I want to see what you are trying so hard to hide. Fear is honest. Fear is useful. But burying it? Pretending?" Her hand ghosted beneath the girl's chin, fingers grazing without quite lifting. "That is wasted potential."

Her laughter came quiet, intimate. "Did you imagine yourself invisible? That I would not notice the little shadow darting through my halls? Even stones notice when the wind changes. Even corpses in the ground stir when ambition passes." Her thumb traced idly along the girl's jaw, mock tenderness wrapped around a blade.

"Do not shrink here. Not before me. You will not be overlooked, not in this chamber. That is your curse… and perhaps your salvation." She leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush near the acolyte's ear. "I summoned you to test what stirs inside you. To see whether you are truly nothing, or something I might enjoy molding."

The touch withdrew, slow as a claw retracting. She straightened, eyes sharp as glass. "So then, little anomaly… will you let me pry you open?"

 

[The Lost]

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shi-

Sweat rolled down the back of her neck as she listened to the Dark Lady speak. She was hiding, as she always did. As she always had to. It was how she survived on Dromuund Kaas for all those years, how she survived the Sith, how she could simply live as herself. She didn't want to be found, examined, explored. Understood. That would be the death of her, all the lessons she learned as a young girl, all for naught if someone found out.

The Lost flinched at the touch on her chin. She was compliant, lifting her head, even meeting the woman's gaze, but she did not want to. She desperately did not want to. Sith could read minds if they looked into the eyes of others long enough. ".. You'll kill me if I don't let you. I don't want to die."

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Expectations."

Tags - The Lost

Virelia's laugh was soft, low, the kind that warmed and chilled in equal measure. Her hand lingered at the acolyte's chin, thumb stroking once more as if she had all the time in the galaxy. "Little one," she whispered, her tone almost maternal in its gentleness, though every syllable was chosen to coil around the girl's nerves, "if I wished to kill you, you would already be ash at my feet. Do not mistake my summons for a death sentence. It is an invitation."

Her gaze burned violet, luminous in the half-light, never wavering from the acolyte's frightened eyes. "You do not want to die. Good. That means you want something more. Life. Power. The chance to matter. Fear of death is the root of all desire—and desire is the root of all strength." She leaned closer, close enough that her breath brushed the girl's cheek, a phantom kiss of heat and promise.

"I will not end you for trembling. I prefer my subjects alive. Breathing. Learning. Fearing me… yes, that is sweeter than killing you outright. You are not summoned to die, but to be made useful. To be drawn out of the shadows you've buried yourself in."

Her fingers slipped from the girl's chin, trailing briefly along her throat before withdrawing. The absence itself became its own touch. "So you will not die here, not today."

The smile she gave then was bright, merciless. "I promise you—being seen by me is far more dangerous than being ignored. And infinitely more rewarding."

 

[The Lost]

".. Rewarding?" What of any of this was rewarding? The disbelief was in her eyes before she could bite it back, stamp it down to avoid bringing any insult to the Sith who quite literally had the Chiss's life in her hands. She didn't believe any of this was a reward. She'd already been robbed of everything that mattered, but now here in this temple she didn't even have her freedom.

"Just- .. What must I do to survive? I just want to survive this, my Lady."

Darth Virelia