The docile, peaceful Cyril was gone. His mother had enraged him. A fury hotter than any sun burned in the pit of his chest. How could she be so naive? How could she not understand? Had she not seen what the Sith truly were?
No, she had not. She'd killed a single one and ran. She'd ran off to rule some derelict sector of systems while the Republic coiled in on itself. While the Jedi Order was overrun by the monsters with no hope in sight. She had abandoned them for her own comfort.
"I'm sorry, I thought you were a Queen?" He managed, the disapproval heavy in his voice. "Do you have eyes? Have you even seen what they've done?"
He drew in a deep breath, tried to calm himself. For a moment, he managed to cool the flames that engulfed his very soul. But only for a moment. It quickly grew into a roaring torrent, and there was no way he could think to stop it.
"This is not a religious thing. You have no idea what the Sith are - you married a reject. I was born into it. Raised by it. Fought for it. The Sith are not an idea. They are a single monstrous being. A cancer. No normal person destroys a planet because it's inconvenient. The Sith don't attack because they are provoked, they attack to conquer. They butcher people for power. They rape women to produce heirs. They torture children to make them their slaves, little girls and little boys thrown into pits with blades of bone, and only the survivor is worthy of serving his overlords."
He visibly shuddered, though it was not fear that shook the errant Jedi.
"The Sith slaughtered thousands on Coruscant, just as we'd finally found peace. The Sith killed my Padawan because he wouldn't conform to their views. The Sith razed Togoria, slaughtered their entire race, and gloated about it on the holonet. Sith burned down Ossus for a damned Holocron!"
He pushed up to his feet. He'd tried for a very long time to accept his mother's view. It was impossible. She was close minded, old and stubborn. Her view was flawed.
"You think we don't try to reason with the Sith? You think we go in guns blazing? We always negotiate before a battle, do you know what happens. They kriff us over. They lie. They burn cities. They destroy families. They use naive, stubborn people like you who've lived a too much of a posh life to understand what the hell people are really like."
He turned about, his face twisting in disgust. He didn't want his mother to see that expression. "Black and white exist, as well as gray, and I tell you that the Sith are in the black. You take one to the bed, and that makes them okay. You abandon the order because you don't have the stomach to defend what's right, and you blame us for not rolling over to murderers. You sit in this damned castle and condemn other people, because you've forgotten how life outside of your archaic, corrupt social order is really like."
He couldn't help himself. He span on his heal, clamped his hands on the edge of the chair, and leaned forward.
"You've watched from afar, on your throne. I've walked on planets that the Sith destroyed to grow their Vong...I've seen Stormtroopers line up civilians, and gun them down to show their authority. The Protectorate you love so much is run by mercenaries, the very thing you protest. You're a hypocrite, you're naive, and you're too stubborn to see anything else. Go walk on the fields of Gratos, the burning surface of Corellia, the Vong shaped hills on Alderaan, and then you can preach to me about good an evil."
[member="Feena Mason"]
