Private New Wounds

[Alana Calloway]

.​

New Wounds ​

Tag: Darth Virelia​

Armor:
Taral-type Sith Trooper Armor Mk. II

Weapons:
HG-88 Big Iron
SD-L1 Long Blaster
HESTIZO-201 "Silverrain" Vaccine
1 x VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade
Gear:
Slicing Glove
DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield
Sentinel Tech Gloves
VKA-7J "Hurricane" Combat Stimulant
G1 Omni Link

​

The descent felt endless.

Alana wasn't sure how long she'd been walking, only that each step sent a fresh jolt of pain up her side, that the metallic taste of blood still lingered in her mouth, that her breath was shallow and uneven no matter how hard she tried to steady it. Perhaps she had a bit rougher of a fight than she thought. The new armor did help if nothing else.

She had lost a bit of blood. Not enough to kill her—but enough to make her legs shake, enough to make the obsidian walls around her seem wrong, shifting at the edges of her vision like they were watching her, waiting for her to collapse.

She wouldn't.

She couldn't.

Not now. Not here.

The underground corridor was eerily silent, the only sound the faint echo of her own footsteps against the smooth, black stone. Obsidian. Cold, sharp, and unnatural in the way it swallowed the dim light of the torches lining the walls. A place shaped by hands that knew how to make something beautiful—and how to make something deadly.

Much like the woman who lived here.

Serina.

Alana exhaled sharply, forcing herself to focus, to push forward, even as her vision blurred at the edges. She didn't need to be here—shouldn't be here—but where else was she supposed to go? Her dislocated knee stung, clearly the medical droid had set it right. In fact most of the medical treatment she had received felt like a torture session. At least she was mobile.

And despite everything, despite the danger, the manipulation, the way Serina twisted things until Alana couldn't tell where her own thoughts ended and hers began—

She had come here anyway. Maybe…she really did want to trust the woman.

The realization settled heavily in her chest, alongside the pain, alongside the exhaustion.

She reached the threshold of the chamber at last, pausing just long enough to steady herself. Straighten her spine. School her expression into something unreadable, something that didn't betray just how much it had taken to get here.

And then, finally—

She stepped inside.

And collapsed onto the nice smooth stone floors.

 

[Darth Virelia]

Tag: Alana Calloway ​

Serina's eyes flicked up from where she had been seated, cross-legged on a throne of obsidian and shadow, her expression unreadable.

She hadn't been expecting company.

Not yet.

Not like this.

And certainly not Alana Calloway, bloodied, barely standing—then not standing at all.

Serina rose.

Not rushed. Not startled. Not concerned.

Just deliberate.

She took her time descending the smooth black steps, the soft click of her boots against the stone floor the only sound in the chamber now.

Alana lay there, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, her body half-coiled in defiance even in collapse.

Serina tilted her head, lips curving into something almost…fond.

"You do love making an entrance, don't you, darling?"

No answer.

Serina's smirk deepened.

Good.

The little rebel was finally too exhausted to talk back.

She crouched beside her, one knee pressing into the cold stone, fingers reaching—slow, careful—to brush against Alana's face.

Warm skin.

Sweat. Blood. Oh, darling.

"You should know better than to come to me like this," she murmured, voice low, indulgent. "Like prey."

Her fingers traced a slow line down Alana's cheek, lingering at the curve of her jaw.

She could feel the tremor in Alana's muscles. The fight still lingering there, waiting to resurface.

But not now.

Not yet.

Serina inhaled deeply, as if savoring the scent of exhaustion, of blood, of surrender.

Then—with all the gentleness of a lover—she slipped her arms beneath Alana and lifted her from the ground.

Effortless.

Like she weighed nothing at all.

She felt Alana stiffen at the sudden loss of control, felt the instinctive tension in her body.

Serina just smirked.

"Easy, sweetheart," she purred, adjusting her grip so Alana was pressed closer against her chest. "I'd hate for you to fall apart before we even get started."

A slow turn. A step forward.

The chamber was dark, lit only by the dim glow of ethereal torches lining the walls—torches that cast long, twisting shadows as Serina carried her prize deeper inside.

"You should have called me," Serina murmured against the shell of Alana's ear, her breath warm against sweat-damp skin. "But no, you had to drag yourself here like a wounded little thing."

A pause.

Then, a whisper—mocking, delighted, dangerous.

"Did you miss me that much?"

She felt Alana shudder.

Oh, she had missed her.

Serina's smirk widened as she crossed the threshold into her private chambers, the vast obsidian walls enclosing around them like the maw of some ancient beast.

The bed—large, silken, indulgent—waited at the center of the space.

Serina laid Alana down, her hands lingering just long enough to let her feel the absence when they finally left.

Then she straightened, watching. Waiting.

A single brow arched.

"And now, darling," she murmured, arms folding across her chest, voice as rich and dark as the chamber itself,

"Tell me… who do I have to kill for this?"

 

[Alana Calloway]

.​

New Wounds ​

Tag: Darth Virelia​

Armor:
Taral-type Sith Trooper Armor Mk. II

Weapons:
HG-88 Big Iron
SD-L1 Long Blaster
HESTIZO-201 "Silverrain" Vaccine
1 x VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade
Gear:
Slicing Glove
DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield
Sentinel Tech Gloves
VKA-7J "Hurricane" Combat Stimulant
G1 Omni Link

​

Alana barely registered the obsidian floor beneath her, her body sagging under its own weight as she crumpled. The fight had drained her, stripped her down to the bone, left her running on sheer spite alone. And yet, even now, even as she lay there—battered, broken—she refused to let herself go limp.

She clenched her teeth, forced herself to breathe through the pain, forced herself to move.

And then—

A shadow. A presence.

Serina.

That voice, smooth as silk, threaded with amusement, with victory.

Alana wanted to snap at her. Wanted to tell her to stop gloating. Wanted to tell her that she wasn't prey, that she hadn't come here to be scooped up and toyed with like some wounded thing—

But she didn't have the strength. Or the energy even.

Didn't have the will to fight back when Serina crouched beside her, when fingers—warm, careful, deliberate—brushed along her cheek.

Feth, her helmet. Where did it go?

She shuddered at the touch, at the way Serina inhaled like she could drink in her weakness, savor it.

And then—

Arms, slipping beneath her. A shift in gravity.

Alana tensed on instinct, her breath hitching as she was lifted—effortless, like she was weightless, like she wasn't barely holding herself together with sheer force of will.

Serina's warmth pressed against her, her grip firm, steady, possessive.

"Easy, sweetheart," Came that voice, purring against her ear, dripping with something smug, something dangerous.

Alana swallowed. Hated the way her body wanted to relax into it. Hated the way exhaustion clawed at her, demanding surrender.

She forced her head up, forced herself to glare, even as Serina carried her deeper into the chamber, even as the dark, glinting walls closed in around them.

"I’m fine…" She rasped, but it lacked the usual bite. It was weak. Fractured.

Serina laughed. Low. Pleased.

It was never good when she did that laugh.

Alana barely bit back a groan as she sank into the silk sheets, her body protesting the sudden absence of Serina's hold. Not that she would have admitted it—admitted the strange, unwelcome sensation of loss the moment those hands left her.

She breathed in slow, steady. Blood and sweat clung to her skin, her wounds burning like embers beneath the weight of exhaustion. But she forced herself upright, one arm bracing against the mattress, her vision still swimming, still too much.

Serina was watching her.

That smirk. That unbearable, knowing look.

Like she had already won.

Alana exhaled sharply, tilting her head just enough to meet those blue eyes, those eyes that stripped her bare without ever lifting a finger.

Hated the way she felt the absence of her touch the second she pulled away.

And then—

"Tell me… who do I have to kill for this?"

Alana huffed out something between a scoff and a breath, fingers clenching the sheets beneath her.

"It was Lirka's...way of acknowledging me." Her voice was raw, barely above a whisper. "She...gave me medical attention...but it...only made things worse.."

She let her head fall back against the pillow, breathing shallow, uneven.

"But, don't make it your problem," She muttered, eyes slipping half-closed, her exhaustion finally, finally catching up to her.

"I'll get even, eventually...."

As if Serina was going to allow that.

 

[Darth Virelia]

Tag: Alana Calloway ​

Serina went still.

Deadly still.

The amusement drained from her face in an instant, like the sun vanishing behind a storm.

Lirka.

Serina's fingers twitched at her sides. Her nails dug just slightly into her palms, not from hesitation, not from uncertainty, but from the sheer, controlled rage that surged through her veins.

She had been hurt.

Her Alana had been hurt.

And not by some meaningless battlefield wound, not by some foolish miscalculation in combat—

But by another's hands.

By another's will.

Serina's lips curled back, but not into a smirk. Not into that usual indulgent, pleased expression she wore when Alana was beaten, vulnerable, and so deliciously dependent.

No.

This was different.

Her head tilted, slow, unnerving, her blue eyes darkening as they traced the bruises, the still-healing wounds, the raw, angry remnants of pain someone else had left behind.

"Medical attention?" she repeated, voice a low, silken purr, dangerous and dripping with something dark.

Her hands found the sheets, bracing against the edge of the bed as she leaned in, pressing closer, her presence looming now, demanding.

"Tell me, sweetheart…" she purred, voice a slow, deliberate stroke against the air, "Does that look like medical attention to you?"

Her fingers ghosted over Alana's exposed collarbone, over the tender skin just barely above a bandage, not quite touching—not yet.

"Does it feel like care?"

A whisper. A breath against her jaw, against her pulse, where Serina could feel it racing beneath her fingertips.

"Did she treat you like I do?"

Alana tensed beneath her, but Serina didn't stop.

She wouldn't stop.

"Did she run her hands over your skin and savor it?"

Serina's fingers pressed now—barely, lightly—against the bandage at Alana's ribs, feeling the heat of lingering pain beneath it.

Her expression turned mocking then, her lips parting with something that was both laughter and rage, pleasure and vengeance.

"Did she take you in her arms and make you feel wanted?"

She didn't let Alana answer.

She didn't need to.

Because the answer was no.

Serina knew it.

She could feel it in the way Alana's body shuddered, in the way her fingers twitched against the sheets, in the way her breath hitched at the barest contact.

Serina exhaled, slow, her lips hovering just above Alana's ear now, her breath warm and soaked in satisfaction.

"No one," she whispered, "touches what's mine."

Her fingers slid lower, curling just lightly against Alana's wrist, feeling the thrum of her pulse beneath them.

"No one puts their hands on you except for me, sweetheart."

She let the words linger, sink in, let them wrap around Alana's mind like chains dipped in silk.

"And no one," she breathed, "makes you suffer—except me."

And if that wasn't the truth.

She wanted Alana's pain, wanted her helpless, wanted her vulnerable—but only if she caused it.

Only if she controlled it.

Serina straightened, but didn't pull away.

Instead, she cupped Alana's chin, tilting her face up, forcing her to look at her, to see the slow, predatory curve of her lips, the delight that flickered behind the simmering, controlled rage.

"You won't get even, darling," she purred, "because I won't let you."

Her thumb brushed the edge of Alana's lower lip, lingering, savoring the moment.

"That privilege belongs to me."

A beat.

A pause.

Then—finally—she smirked.

And gods, it was devastating.

"Now…" she drawled, mocking, indulgent, possessive, furious.

"Be a good girl, and tell me everything."

Because someone was going to pay for this.

And Serina was going to enjoy it.

 

[Alana Calloway]

.​

New Wounds ​

Tag: Darth Virelia​

Armor:
Taral-type Sith Trooper Armor Mk. II

Weapons:
HG-88 Big Iron
SD-L1 Long Blaster
HESTIZO-201 "Silverrain" Vaccine
1 x VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade
Gear:
Slicing Glove
DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield
Sentinel Tech Gloves
VKA-7J "Hurricane" Combat Stimulant
G1 Omni Link

​

Alana's body went rigid as Serina's presence shifted—no longer that of the teasing, amused woman who loved to make her squirm. No, now she was a storm contained within flesh, something dangerous, something threatening.

Alana's breath hitched as Serina leaned in, her touch no longer gentle or soft, but a slow, controlled caress that sent a shiver down Alana's spine. It wasn't comfort. It wasn't care. It was possession. Ownership. A claim.

"Does that look like medical attention to you?" Serina's voice was deadly, wrapping around her words with venomous sweetness. Alana didn't respond, not because she didn't want to, but because every word stuck in her throat like ash. She couldn't find her voice beneath the weight of Serina's gaze, beneath the pressing, demanding force that radiated from her.

Serina's fingers ghosted over her collarbone, over the tender skin that still stung from the fight, barely touching her but somehow imprinting deeper than any true contact ever could.

Does it feel like care?

Alana's eyes fluttered closed, her chest tightening as Serina's questions swirled in her mind, knocking around the fragile walls she had been clinging to. She had already known the answer—there was no care, no tenderness from Lirka. No warmth. Just brutality. Just pain.

She could still feel the jagged pain of the fight, still feel the rawness of it all.

But now? Now, the way Serina's words cut into her like a blade, the way her touch wanted to hurt—that was something she couldn't quite escape.

Serina's voice lowered to a whisper, and Alana's pulse quickened, her fingers gripping the sheets beneath her. "Did she take you in her arms and make you feel wanted?"

The air between them seemed to still. Alana opened her eyes just as Serina's fingers brushed against the bandage at her ribs. The pain was still there, lingering like an unwelcome guest, and with each touch of Serina's fingers, it felt more suffocating. More invasive.

No one touches what's mine.

The words wrapped around Alana's mind, twisting with a possessive force that sent a jolt of panic through her chest.

Alana was already trembling beneath her, a mix of defiance and submission warring inside her. But as Serina's hands trailed down, as her fingers tightened ever so slightly around her wrist, Alana's own pulse jumped in reaction, a thrill lacing through her, against every instinct to fight it.

"Stop it," Alana rasped, voice hoarse, weaker now as she struggled to hold onto herself, to keep some semblance of control. But Serina wasn't done. She wouldn't stop.

And Alana knew that.

"No one puts their hands on you except for me."

The words slid through the air, dripping with that dark promise, with that twisted need. The words sank into Alana's skin, into her very bones, and she hated how it felt, how right it felt. How impossible it seemed to fight back, to stay composed, when every part of her longed to be touched like that—by Serina, and no one else.

Alana's breath hitched as Serina straightened up, still hovering close, watching her like she was some toy, some possession to be carefully observed, but never truly held.

Serina tilted her chin, forcing her to meet her gaze. Alana's eyes were dull with exhaustion, bloodied and beaten, but still—still, there was a fire there, even as Serina forced her to look into her eyes.

"You won't get even, darling," Serina purred. "Because I won't let you."

Alana's pulse flared, blood rising to her cheeks as Serina's thumb brushed along her lower lip, a sickening, possessive gesture that sent heat flooding through her all over again.

That wasn’t Serina’s call to make.

"Now…" Serina's voice deepened, dangerous and mocking, as if she was savoring every word, every moment of this twisted game they were playing.

"Be a good girl, and tell me everything."

Alana didn't even think. She couldn't. She was drowning beneath Serina's touch, beneath her hold. The need to please, to give in, crawled beneath her skin like an itch she couldn't scratch.

But even as it burned inside her, she clenched her jaw and turned her head away, her voice weak but defiant, barely more than a whisper:

“I’m not a good girl….and I..don’t want you fighting my fights for me….” She said softly, looking to Serina with concern. “I need to get stronger….for us.”

Alana didn’t know a lot about the Sith, but she did know that it was all about strength.

And she needed to get stronger.

“Lirka asked me…to join a special unit under her…and fought me to see if I would fit….i passed.”

 

[Darth Virelia]

Tag: Alana Calloway ​

Serina stilled.

Not the sharp stillness of rage.

Not the kind of silence that signaled something breaking.

No—this was different.

This was dangerous.

This was pleasure.

A slow, curling, shuddering pleasure that settled deep in her bones, that wrapped itself around her spine and thrummed with satisfaction.

"For us."

Serina's lips parted, just slightly, her breath catching for half a second, just enough to reveal the delight rippling through her.

Oh, darling.

Alana had no idea what she had just done.

She had given herself away—not with a kiss, not with surrender, not with an admission of weakness, but with a single, beautiful, perfect phrase.

"For us."

Serina's fingers curled into the sheets beside Alana's waist, gripping the fabric like she needed to ground herself, like she needed something solid to keep her from completely unraveling at the sheer euphoria that surged through her veins.

Her smirk was slow, indulgent, dripping with something thicker than satisfaction—something possessive, something knowing.

She inhaled deeply, deliberately, before lowering herself, before pressing in closer, before settling against Alana's side, their bodies now flush against one another.

Serina's fingers slid—slow and indulgent—along Alana's arm, tracing the bruises, the cuts, the places where someone else had dared to mark what belonged to her.

Her hand ghosted over Alana's stomach, brushing so lightly, just teasing the space between skin and bandage.

"You are a good girl," Serina whispered, her breath warm against Alana's temple, her lips barely grazing the shell of her ear. "My good girl."

Her tone dipped lower, dripping with something dangerously sweet, something silken and sticky, something meant to pull Alana deeper into her web.

"And it just kills you, doesn't it?" Serina murmured, her lips now hovering above Alana's jaw, her fingers tracing slow, teasing lines against her side.

"How much you want me to fight for you."

Serina shifted, her body molding against Alana's, tangling with her, folding into her, consuming her.

"How much you want me to take care of you."

Her lips brushed against Alana's cheek—just the barest graze of warmth, the softest reminder of what was hers.

Serina let her fingers tighten slightly at Alana's wrist, just enough to let her feel the claim, the possession, the weight of what she had given away.

"For us."

Serina purred.

"And you passed, did you?" she whispered, voice rich with dark amusement.

Her fingers slid higher, curling under Alana's chin, tilting her face back toward her.

Alana's eyes flickered, full of exhaustion, full of something fighting, but also—oh, darling—full of something else.

Serina exhaled softly, mocking, indulgent, before pressing the softest, most devastatingly sweet kiss against Alana's forehead.

The kind of kiss that promised devotion.

The kind of kiss that ruined people.

Serina pulled back just slightly, her fingers slipping from Alana's chin to brush along the curve of her jaw, her lips still dangerously close.

"That's my beautiful little thing," she murmured, softly, proudly, as if Alana had done something truly wonderful.

And then—finally, she asked, her voice now gentle, dangerously tender:

"Are you dying, darling?"

Serina's fingers trailed along her collarbone, her palm pressing lightly against Alana's stomach, her expression shifting from indulgent to something curious, something assessing.

"I must dearly know."

Her lips curved slightly, her voice dipping into something deceptively caring, something that disguised the pure, unfiltered obsession beneath.

"Because I won't have you breaking on me just yet, sweetheart."

A pause.

Then, a slow, deadly smirk.

"Not when I've only just begun to make you mine."

 

[Alana Calloway]

.​

New Wounds ​

Tag: Darth Virelia​

Armor:
Taral-type Sith Trooper Armor Mk. II

Weapons:
HG-88 Big Iron
SD-L1 Long Blaster
HESTIZO-201 "Silverrain" Vaccine
1 x VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade
Gear:
Slicing Glove
DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield
Sentinel Tech Gloves
VKA-7J "Hurricane" Combat Stimulant
G1 Omni Link

​

Alana's heart raced at the sound of Serina's words, each one a spark that set her body alight. She could feel the possessiveness in Serina's touch, in her tone, wrapping around her like a second skin, pulling her deeper into the web. It made Alana's chest tighten with something that wasn't just desire—it was need.

The tension between them thickened, crackling with a dangerous energy that Alana couldn't—didn't—want to escape. She felt Serina's hand ghost over her skin, tracing the marks that others had left behind, and something within her stirred. Not shame. No. Claimed. That's what Serina was doing. And Alana found herself helpless to stop it. Maybe she didn't want to.

Serina's touch was a slow burn, leaving fire in its wake. She could feel the intensity of Serina's breath against her temple, and when the words left her lips, so sweet and dangerous, Alana felt her heart twist, a tight knot of pleasure and fear and longing.

My good girl.

Who the Feth talked like this-

Alana's breath hitched at the words.

Damn it.

Her pulse quickened, skin tingling under Serina's touch, as if the words were a silent command, pulling her deeper into something she couldn't understand, but didn't want to escape from.

Her body responded before her mind could catch up, the desire blooming within her chest like a flower caught in the sun. She tilted her head slightly, her lips parting, but she couldn't find the words to speak. Not when Serina was so close, so present, like she was woven into Alana's very being.

And then—Serina's lips were on her forehead.

Alana's body froze, but it wasn't the cold, the fear—it was the overwhelming heat. That kiss, soft and sweet, felt like a promise. A promise of ownership, of devotion, of everything Alana hadn't allowed herself to crave until now. The ache inside her deepened, mixing with something darker, something that pulsed with a desire she hadn't yet learned to understand.

She wouldn’t mind another.

Serina's fingers slid to her chin, tilting her face upward, and Alana's eyes met hers. She could see the pride, the possessiveness, the hunger in Serina's gaze. And Alana felt a jolt of something—belonging.

Serina's words were soft, but they hit her like a punch. Are you dying, darling? The question, so deceptively tender, made something stir deep inside her. She swallowed hard, trying to gather her thoughts, but her body didn't obey, not when Serina's touch was so constant, so demanding.

"I'm not dying," Alana whispered, voice low, raw. "But I'm... I came here…so I could be with you."

The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them, and in that moment, she knew they were true. There was no turning back now. She had given herself away, not in the traditional sense, but in a way that felt irrevocable.

Alana leaned into Serina's touch, her body responding to the pull of possession, to the way Serina made her feel alive and valued all at once. And as the moments stretched out between them, Alana realized one thing.

This was only the beginning.

And she didn't want it to end.

“Serina, can you just….call me by my name…”

A simple request there was one. Only time would tell how it would be taken.

 

[Darth Virelia]

Tag: Alana Calloway ​

Serina's smile was slow, creeping, indulgent.

Oh, sweetheart.

She had played this game before.

But never like this.

Never with something so perfectly broken.

Alana had handed herself over, just a little bit—just enough—but not completely.

Not yet.

And that? That simply wouldn't do.

Serina's fingers brushed over Alana's jaw, slow and thoughtful, her blue eyes scanning, searching, taking in every flicker of hesitation, every inch of desire hidden behind the sharp edges of exhaustion.

"Call you by your name?"

Serina let the words linger, curling them around her tongue like silk, dragging them through the air just long enough for them to settle between them.

And then—

She laughed.

Low. Knowing. Indulgent.

Her fingers curled at the nape of Alana's neck, tangling in the strands of silver hair, her grip neither soft nor harsh, but firm. Commanding.

"Oh, darling…"

Serina tilted her head, lips parting just slightly, as if savoring something exquisite.

"You ask me for trust… but how can I trust something that used to defy me so openly?"

Her lips brushed against Alana's temple, the warmth of her breath trailing lower, tracing down to the soft space beneath her jaw.

"How can I be sure you won't break me the way I have broken you?"

Her fingers pressed—just slightly—against Alana's throat, feeling the pulse thrum beneath her skin, quickened by something that wasn't quite fear, wasn't quite desire, wasn't quite anything Alana could name.

Serina let her lips hover, her voice dropping into something dangerous, something liquid, something meant to melt the final walls between them.

"You must be remade into something I can trust, sweetheart."

A pause. A breath.

And then—the offer.

"You will choose your name."

Her fingers trailed downward, slipping to Alana's shoulder, gliding slowly across the bandages, the wounds, the places where she had suffered for the right to be here.

"You will shed the old self that fought against me."

Serina shifted, her body pressing closer, one knee braced against the mattress, her weight purposefully looming, coiling, wrapping around Alana like smoke.

"And in doing so, you will become mine."

Serina smiled.

"Entirely."

Her thumb dragged across Alana's collarbone, slow, tantalizing, like she was marking her even through the layers of wounds and silk sheets.

"Because tell me, sweetheart…"

Serina's lips hovered just above Alana's, teasing, taunting, never quite touching.

"Wouldn't it be easier?"

A whisper.

"Wouldn't it be beautiful?"

Her fingers curled around Alana's wrist, guiding her hand up—slow, deliberate—placing it against Serina's own chest, right where a heart should be, where that gaping hole of shadows and tendrils of smoke bled into the fabric of her being.

"To no longer be someone who suffers?"

She let Alana feel it. The emptiness.

"To be something… more?"

Serina's smirk deepened, her voice turning softer now, turning into something tender, something sweetly poisoned.

"Choose, darling."

A pause.

"Give yourself to me completely."

Another pause.

"And I promise, I will never let you go."

 

[Alana Calloway]

.​

New Wounds ​

Tag: Darth Virelia​

Armor:
Taral-type Sith Trooper Armor Mk. II

Weapons:
HG-88 Big Iron
SD-L1 Long Blaster
HESTIZO-201 "Silverrain" Vaccine
1 x VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade
Gear:
Slicing Glove
DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield
Sentinel Tech Gloves
VKA-7J "Hurricane" Combat Stimulant
G1 Omni Link

​

Alana's breath hitched.

She wanted to scoff. To sneer. To pull away, to roll her eyes, to fight.

But her body—traitorous, weak—wouldn't let her.

Not as Serina's fingers skimmed across her skin, tracing wounds like they were something sacred. Not as her voice—low, insidious, hypnotic—wrapped around her like a noose made of silk.

Not as she took Alana's hand—deliberate, patient, merciless—and pressed it against the hollow where a heart should be.

Alana swallowed.

It was empty.

A void, stretching deep, dark, endless.

And yet… she could feel it.

Feel it pulling. Feel it beckoning. Feel it whispering things she didn't dare name.

"Choose, darling."

Serina's words curled around her mind like smoke, filling the cracks, seeping into places Alana wasn't sure she could reach anymore.

"Give yourself to me completely."

Alana squeezed her eyes shut.

"And I promise, I will never let you go."

A breath.

Slow. Shallow.

Then—her fingers twitched against Serina's chest, her voice barely a whisper.

"...You're asking me to kill her."

She didn't have to say who. Didn't have to name the version of herself that had clawed and fought and bled to stay herself.

Serina knew.

Of course she did.

Alana let her head fall back against the pillows, lips parting, breath unsteady.

"Funny." A weak laugh, bitter, exhausted. "I always figured she'd go down fighting."

Another pause.

Then—

Alana turned her head, just slightly, just enough that her lips nearly brushed Serina's, her red eyes flickering open, searching, burning.

"....I guess no one wanted Alana after all, huh?" She rasped.

A surrender wrapped in thorns. Removing the last bit of who she was....to become another cog in the Empire

She wasn't sure she even wanted an answer.

What surprised her more than anything, was that she understood why.

 

[Darth Virelia]

Tag: Alana Calloway ​

Serina shuddered.

Not from cold.

Not from shock.

But from the sheer, exquisite pleasure that rippled down her spine, spreading through her veins like fire.

Oh, darling.

She had been waiting for this.

For that whisper of surrender, for that final moment where defiance collapsed in on itself, where Alana—no, not Alana—where she understood what she had to do.

Serina's grip on her hand tightened, just enough to remind her, just enough to keep her there, pressed against the void where a heart should have been.

"Kill her?"

Serina's lips parted in an amused huff, soft, indulgent, mocking.

She tilted her head, letting her nose brush against Alana's, letting their lips stay dangerously close, a breath apart, hovering over something inevitable.

"Oh, sweetheart…"

Her fingers dragged along Alana's jaw, featherlight, sweet, like she was handling something precious.

"You already have."

Serina inhaled deeply, slowly, as if savoring the scent of a funeral.

As if she had just witnessed the last dying breath of Alana Calloway—and by the force.

It was intoxicating.

Serina pressed closer, her voice a whispered brand against Alana's lips.

"No one wanted her, darling…"

She let the words linger, let them sink, let them wrap themselves around the last remnants of the name that no longer mattered.

"But I want you."

Her fingers slipped into Alana's hair, tangling, claiming, holding her still as Serina shifted, pressing their foreheads together, breathing her in.

"You're not lost anymore."

A pause.

Then—softer, sweeter, seductive beyond reason—

"You're mine."

Serina exhaled, feeling the last of Alana dissolve, feeling the truth of it settle deep in her bones.

And then—

She smiled.

"Now…"

Her fingers slid lower, lazily tracing the pulse at Alana's throat, dragging along her collarbone, stopping just at the bandaged wound that marked her suffering.

"Let's give you a new name, shall we?"

She didn't order it.

Didn't demand it.

Oh, no.

That wasn't how this worked.

It had to come from her.

Had to be chosen.

Because true ownership wasn't taken.

It was given.

Serina's smirk curled, her breath brushing warm against Alana's lips, as she whispered, slow, indulgent—

"Tell me, darling…"

A pause. A promise. A perfect moment of corruption.

"Who are you now?"

 

[Alana Calloway]

.​

New Wounds ​

Tag: Darth Virelia​

Armor:
Taral-type Sith Trooper Armor Mk. II

Weapons:
HG-88 Big Iron
SD-L1 Long Blaster
HESTIZO-201 "Silverrain" Vaccine
1 x VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade
Gear:
Slicing Glove
DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield
Sentinel Tech Gloves
VKA-7J "Hurricane" Combat Stimulant
G1 Omni Link

​

Alana swallowed hard, the weight of Serina's words curling around her like a velvet noose. Her breath hitched, just barely, just enough to betray the war inside her.

No one wanted her.

She had known that truth long before Serina ever whispered it into existence.

She had clawed her way through the galaxy, fighting for scraps of belonging, chasing ghosts of names that had never truly been hers. Alana Calloway. Alana Mornami. Each one a lie. Each one a corpse she had buried long before Serina had ever laid her hands on her.

And yet, there had still been a part of her that clung to them.

A part of her that had thought she could hold on.

Serina had crushed that part beneath her heel.

And oh, Force help her, Alana wasn't sure she wanted to pick up the pieces.

The fingers in her hair tightened, a silent demand, a patient indulgence. Serina could wait— she could be so cruelly patient.

Alana's lips parted, a breath, a hesitation. She was never going to be anyone, as Alana.

Alana was a failure, a rejection..her identity had been stripped away, torn apart, because again...no one wanted her.

They just wanted what she could do.

She really was a little fool.

Serina was just like all the others....

Crimson eyes vanished behind shut eyelids, her body moved to try away, wanting to rise, get away from Serina.

She just wanted to be alone.

"I don't know anymore."

The word slipped from her tongue like a sigh, like a surrender, like something inevitable.

She let it settle. Let it take shape.

Against her own benefit, she would aim to rise, leave if she could manage under her own power, though just sitting up sent a rush of pain through her.

There was no going back.

There never had been.

But she needed time alone, without Serina chiding her.