Private Scarlet Embrace

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Items: Lightsaber I Engagement Ring I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo | Sigil Bead Necklace ( Gift )

Tags: Isola Delaine

​

She had tried so hard. Gods, Ashla, she had tried.

For weeks, she'd done everything she could to keep going—to feel like herself again. She rose with the sun, trained until her limbs shook, meditated until the silence screamed, and smiled when it burned just to breathe. Each day she buried the ache a little deeper, whispered goodbye to the future she thought they'd share, and convinced herself it was for the best.

She let the fantasy die quietly.
Buried it beneath duty.
Beneath silence.
Beneath what little hope she still had for anything else.

And then he came back.

The moment his eyes met hers, it all unraveled. Words had been spoken—sharp and trembling, necessary and cruel. Things that had needed to be said, laid bare with a finality that left no room for return. And with each word, each broken glance, she felt herself cracking.

She had ended it. Truly. Officially. No maybes. No returns.

And now—long after everyone else had gone, beneath Tython's twin moons—Anneliese stood in the center of the deserted training fields, far from the Temple, far from the eyes she couldn't bear to meet. She had skipped her lessons, hidden deep in the forest through the daylight hours. She just… couldn't. Not yet. Not today.

She wore only her black sweatpants and a thin, sweat-dampened sports bra—robes long discarded in a pile somewhere near the treeline. Her hair was yanked into a sloppy, unravelling knot at the crown of her head, red strands falling loose and wild across her face. Along the curve of her spine, moonlight traced the edges of the black crescent tattoo that stretched from her mid-back to the small of it, the ink gleaming faintly against glistening skin. Her bare feet pressed into the earth, grounding her, as if the soil itself was the only thing holding her upright.

Her chest rose and fell in jagged bursts, her breath hitching like it was caught in a throat full of glass. Her movements had been frantic, wild—strikes that held no form, only grief. Her body, once disciplined and deliberate, refused to obey. Every motion echoed like a memory she couldn't bear to carry.

And now she stood still. Trembling. Staring up at the stars that bore witness to her undoing.

Her hand went to her chest—gripping the fabric there like she could hold her heart together if she just pressed hard enough.

Tears streamed freely now, hot and ceaseless, falling without shame.

"I knew it was over…" she whispered, voice raw and barely there. "I know."

But saying it aloud cracked something deep inside.

It was over.

No more what ifs, no more maybes, no more waking up hoping he would come home.

The fantasy—the one she'd nurtured like a fragile flame—snuffed out.

"I loved you," she said, her voice breaking entirely. "And I think some part of me always will."

But it wasn't enough. Not anymore. Maybe it never had been.

Her gaze dropped to her left hand—pale now where the symbol of that hope had once rested. Her fingers trembled. She couldn't look at it. Couldn't stand it.

A sob tore from her throat—so fierce, so guttural it forced her to bend over, a hand bracing on her knee. And then came the scream. Wrenched from her soul, laced with the Force, it ripped into the night like a broken prayer. Birds scattered from the trees.

She lunged before she could stop herself, fist colliding with the stone pillar beside the field. The Force surged through her—grief turned violent. The wall cracked outward in a perfect spiderweb, shards of dust raining around her like ash.

Another scream. Another punch. Her knuckles split, blood blooming against pale stone.

And then—

She collapsed.

Knees crashing to the earth. Shoulders caving. Face in her hands as every wall she'd built came down around her. Her body shook with the force of her sobs, and still, the pain didn't ease. It just kept coming. Wave after wave.

Would anyone ever see her again? Really see her—not the warrior, not the Jedi, not the leader or the light. Just… her. Anneliese. Broken. Beating. Human.

Was she meant to love again?

Could she be loved?

The wind moved softly through the trees, brushing over her skin like a whisper. A promise she couldn't hear. Not yet.

 

[Isola Delaine]

Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

The stars looked different here.

Not better. Not worse. Just... different.

Tython’s night sky stretched above her like a canvas left half-painted, brighter than deep space, but darker than Hapes. Isola Delaine stood in the shadow of the Temple, collar turned up against the cool air, hands tucked into the worn pockets of her long coat. It was quiet here. Peaceful. Too peaceful, maybe.

She had walked this same winding path each night since arriving. Gravel crunching under boot. Distant whispers of leaves moving in the breeze. No chatter, no noise, no crew, no hum of engines. Just silence and the Force.

She wasn’t used to this kind of silence.

She’d lived her whole life in the noise of survival: mining vessels, docking bays, shouting captains, alarms. And then later — after him... — Jedi teachings, meditation chambers, calm voices telling her to breathe. To feel. To let go.

She hadn’t figured out how to do that yet.

So instead, she walked.
And thought.
And tried not to think.

One hand absently brushed her forearm, fingers tracing the invisible memory inked beneath her sleeve. Coordinates. A scar she’d chosen to carry. The kind that didn’t heal because maybe it wasn’t supposed to.

You’re here now. This is real, she told herself. You made it. The Temple. The Order. The next step.

But she didn’t feel like she belonged. Not yet. The pain of loss was still too real. Too distracting. And yet, she pushed on as much as she was capable.

She paused on a stone ledge overlooking one of the Temple gardens, her usual stop before turning back. The twin moons hung low and full in the sky, bathing everything in pale silver. Her eyes lingered on the horizon, unfocused, as her thoughts drifted... until something broke the stillness.

A sound.

Muffled, distant. At first, it could’ve been the wind, or the shifting of temple wildlife. But then it came again. Clearer. A sharp, gasping breath. A soft sob. The kind that didn’t belong to anything wild.

Isola’s head tilted slightly. She narrowed her eyes toward the sound, no longer still.

Another breath.

Then—

A scream. Raw. Wordless. Human.

It echoed across the courtyard like a wound.

Isola was already moving.

Boots hit gravel. Her coat caught the wind. The night no longer felt quiet, but rather, charged. The kind of charge that came before a storm, or after something had already broken.

She didn’t know who was out there. Didn’t know if it was a Jedi or a stranger or a ghost.

But someone was hurting.

She moved through a stretch of cypress and shadow, following the faint trail of noise that led away from the Temple proper. The air shifted. The pain in the Force was thick now, sharp and unshielded. Whoever was out here wasn’t just upset. They were breaking.

Then she saw her.

A lone figure near the edge of the garden clearing, shrouded in moonlight. Hair like flame. Shoulders drawn in tight. A posture that screamed of someone who had fought to keep it together for far too long... and finally lost.

Isola slowed.

For a moment, she didn’t speak. She just stood at the edge of the silence between them, watching, not to pry, but because this was familiar. Too familiar. She’d been here. She’d felt this kind of grief, the kind that came when no one could see you, and the only thing left to do was bleed out quietly where the stars might understand.

She almost turned back. But something in her wouldn’t let her. She took a step forward, boots quiet on the stone.

Then, softly—

"Hey... Are you... okay?"

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Items: Lightsaber I Engagement Ring I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo | Sigil Bead Necklace ( Gift )

Tags: Isola Delaine
​

She didn't hear the approach at first—not over the thrum in her chest, the tight pull of breath that stuttered in and out. The world had shrunk to moonlight and muscle, blood and stone. Her knees pressed into the dirt like roots searching for strength, her hand trembling in her lap, the knuckles split and raw. A deep throb pulsed where bone had met the wall—where fury had tried, and failed, to quiet the grief.

And then—

"Hey… Are you… okay?"

The voice slipped through the stillness like a thread pulled through cloth. Soft. Careful. But it found her anyway.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She didn't lift her head right away—couldn't. Her body, still coiled from the storm, refused to unfold. Sweat clung to her skin, catching the silver wash of the twin moons. It gleamed across the long lines of her back, shimmered over the curve of her shoulders, traced the tension in her arms where every muscle remained drawn tight. Her sports bra clung to her ribs, damp and barely concealing the way her heart still pounded beneath.

When she finally turned her head, her hair—messy, matted, streaked with sweat—shifted with her. Her eyes lifted.

Isola.

Of all people.

Anneliese had noticed her before. The quiet newcomer with watchful eyes and haunted silences. A presence that didn't crowd a room, but didn't vanish in it either. There was something in her—coiled like tension, soft like sorrow. The kind of person who understood grief not because she'd read about it, but because she'd lived in it.

The sight of her framed by the broken stone—the wall cracked just off-center behind her, still etched with the impact of Anneliese's strike—felt too much like being seen. Not just observed, but known.

Anneliese sat back a little, wincing as her weight shifted to her injured hand. The throb sharpened, a reminder. She curled her fingers, hiding the worst of the damage against her thigh.

Her voice, when it came, was quiet. Low. Threadbare.

"…No." She swallowed. "But I will be."

The words hung there—neither defiant nor ashamed. Just honest. And tired.

Her eyes dropped, lashes dark with sweat and tears. She could still feel her face—hot, damp, streaked with salt. And she hated it. Hated being seen like this—undone, trembling, hollowed out. Not the calm center. Not the graceful knight. Just… the girl beneath it all.

"I didn't mean to be seen." She said it softly, more to herself than to Isola. A confession. A wish.

Still, she didn't ask her to leave.

Something in her—small and wounded and aching—was grateful for the interruption. For the presence that hadn't tried to fix her. Just stood there. Stayed.

And so, Anneliese remained on her knees, the cracked stone wall behind her, the open sky above, the tremble still not quite stilled in her bones.

 

[Isola Delaine]

Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

She didn't hesitate. Not when Anneliese turned her head. Not when she saw the blood. Not even when she heard her soft, vulnerable and broken confession. Isola moved before she thought, the way you do when something inside you simply knows what's needed. She stepped forward and knelt beside her, boots brushing against dirt, coat pooling around her knees.

Her hand reached out — slow, deliberate, gentle — and she took Anneliese's trembling hand in her own. Isola's touch was cool and steady, careful with the torn knuckles, but sure. Like someone who had held pain before and learned how not to flinch from it.

"I've got bacta patches in my dorm," she said softly, eyes scanning the damage with quiet concern. "Can clean this up. Wrap it right."

She didn't push. Didn't fuss. Just offered. Her voice was steady, unhurried. A calm island in a storm.

Then she looked up, and their eyes met.

Silver and emerald locked.

For a moment, the world stilled again. Not because it had to, but because it seemingly wanted to. The air between them shifted, not heavy, not light, but real. And in that hush, Isola saw her.

The girl beneath her pain. Beneath the presentation, beneath the scarring, beneath the tears.

She didn't look away.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Items: Lightsaber I Engagement Ring I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo | Sigil Bead Necklace ( Gift )

Tags: Isola Delaine​

Anneliese's breath hitched — and then cracked.

"I tried to hold it in," she whispered, voice fracturing as the dam inside her gave way. Her shoulders trembled with the force of a sob she didn't try to hide. "I knew it was over. I knew the moment I felt the air change between us. But telling him… saying the words out loud—"

Her hand tightened faintly in Isola's, torn knuckles pressing into the steady warmth of her palm. Her voice dropped, ragged.

"It hurts so bad, it's hard to breathe."

The words spilled, sudden and unguarded, like a confession to a stranger because sometimes that's the only place it feels safe. Isola hadn't asked. She hadn't pried. And maybe that's why it felt like she could say it. Like the weight didn't have to stay buried anymore.

"I've been screaming in silence for months. Smiling through it. Holding it together for everyone else. But inside I feel like I'm unraveling."

Her eyes closed, lashes damp. She inhaled slowly, trying to draw breath into lungs too tight to hold it. But when she opened them again—

Silver eyes.

Their gaze caught, locked — and something shifted.

It wasn't just comfort she felt. Not now. Not in this breathless, strange pause between pain and something else.

She saw her.

The curve of her jaw. The sharp, delicate lines softened by candlelight and care. The steadiness of her hands, the gentleness in her voice — and strength, not loud or showy, but quiet and enduring. Like a harbor. Like gravity.

Anneliese gasped — barely — the sound small, involuntary.

Her gaze lingered a second too long before she dropped it, color blooming beneath her skin in a flush that crept from her cheeks to her throat.

She cleared her throat gently. "The bacta patches would be… welcome. Thank you."

The gratitude was real, a soft thrum beneath the rawness. But something else moved in it now, unspoken. A thread of warmth in the wreckage.

She didn't pull her hand away.

Didn't want to.

 

[Isola Delaine]

Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

She heard the words. Each one hit like a quiet drumbeat in Isola’s chest, sharp, raw, and familiar. The kind of pain you didn’t need to understand to recognise. It was the kind that echoed from your own ribs, from a place so buried even the Force had to whisper to find it. Anneliese’s voice was frayed with grief. Delirious with heartbreak. And Isola felt a pang, low and sharp, beneath her breastbone.

"Can you stand?" she asked softly, voice so low it barely stirred the air.

Isola didn’t press. She simply moved with her. Together, in one gentle motion, they rose, Isola’s hand never leaving hers, her other lightly at her back to keep her steady. She didn’t rush it. Let her lean if she needed. Let her break again, if she had to. And when they stood fully in the moonlight, she took a longer look at her hand. Split knuckles. Torn skin. Dried blood. Isola bit the inside of her lower lip, a habit she never quite kicked, one that always crept in when she was focused, when something mattered.

"C’mon," she said quietly.

* * *​

Her room was quiet, clean, and spare.
Minimal furniture. A well-kept coat hung by the door. Her boots in perfect alignment beneath a bench. A small toolkit sat open beside a data pad , half a disassembled comm still laid out in pieces. It was clearly the space of someone disciplined, someone who needed control.

But there were details. Subtle ones. The faint hum of old music from the corner speaker—low and warm. A polished flight badge tucked in the shelf’s corner. And on the bed—

A small bunny plush, worn but unmistakably loved.

Isola blinked once, startled, then swiftly, almost sheepishly, swept it beneath the blanket, as if it hadn’t been there at all. She said nothing. Just moved to the corner dresser and returned with a damp cloth and a bacta patch. No ceremony. No delay.

She sat on the edge of the bed and gestured wordlessly for Anneliese to join her. Then, with the same precision and patience she’d learned back in deep space — with wounds and silence and makeshift tools — she got to work.

Isola’s touch was gentle, practiced, expert. She held Annie’s hand in hers, thumb bracing it just enough to steady, and began wiping away the blood and grime. Not hurried. Not cold. Just present.

She didn’t speak. Not yet. But she bit her lower lip again as she set into focus.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Items: Lightsaber I Engagement Ring I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo | Sigil Bead Necklace ( Gift )

Tags: Isola Delaine
​

Anneliese didn't say a word when she spotted the bunny plush on the bed. But a slow, wolfish grin curled at the edge of her lips, sharp in amusement and tender in something else. She didn't mention it — not out of mockery, but reverence. Like she'd been allowed a glimpse of something secret.

The room felt lived in, but not messy. Intimate in a way that surprised her. Minimal, yes, but not cold — the soft hum of music, the faint floral trace of Isola's scent in the air, the warmth of her presence embedded in the space like sunlight through old glass. And then, underneath it, something rawer — the quiet salt of Anneliese's own sweat, the adrenaline of pain, of grief, of the body still winding down from the inside out.

Her senses sharpened, pulled taut by it all. The way Isola moved without hesitation. The way her hand remained steady, grounding. The way their bodies existed now in such close proximity — breath to breath, pulse to pulse — in a room that suddenly felt too quiet, too small.

Why am I feeling like this?

The question hit before she could push it away. She didn't even know this woman — not really. Just a stranger who stepped in when everything had begun to fracture. But here she was. And Anneliese couldn't stop looking at her.

The light caught her profile, all edges and softness at once. The sharp grace of her cheekbones. The strong set of her jaw. The calm intensity in her eyes — gods, those silver eyes — and the faint, unconscious bite of her lip as she focused.

Anneliese's breath hitched again, but not from grief this time.

It was stupid. Ridiculous. She was falling apart. Bleeding, emotionally unraveling. And still—

Still, when Isola's fingers brushed her palm, gentle and methodical, something inside Anneliese sparked.

Their breaths mixed — hers uneven, but beginning to steady. Just barely.

And then Isola bit her lip again, lost in concentration.

Anneliese flushed.

The color bloomed fast, up her neck, blooming like fire along her cheeks. She looked down at their hands — at the care, the closeness — and fumbled, her voice a soft, flustered stammer.

"Y-you're… really good at this," she managed, barely. "Patchwork, I mean. Not — not that you're, uh—well. I mean, you are. Good. At everything. Probably. I just meant the, um—hand part. The fixing."

She winced.

"I'll stop talking now."

But she didn't move. Didn't pull away.

If anything, she inched just a little closer — not consciously. Not intentionally.

Drawn.

 

[Isola Delaine]

Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

Isola blinked. Not at the words — she'd heard flustered people before — but at the sudden, unexpected colour blooming in Anneliese's cheeks. The stammer, the way she fumbled through the sentence, made something flicker behind Isola's eyes. Not quite a smile. Just a shift, like light catching the edge of something hidden. She glanced up briefly, the corner of her mouth twitching, bemused, but not unkind.

"You're sweet."

It slipped out, quiet, honest, and gone as soon as it came. A rare softness in her tone that surprised even her. But then she returned to the task, gaze dropping again as she carefully pressed a clean edge of cloth to the split skin. There was still grime in the creases of Anneliese's knuckles, dried into the fine lines of her hand. Isola didn't rush. She kept wiping gently, almost reverently.

"Should be okay," she murmured, more to the injury than to Annie. "No fracture. Skin's torn, but not deep. Patch'll help the rest."

There was a short silence. Her silver eyes held no judgment. Just that same calm steadiness she always seemed to carry. She paused, then tilted her head slightly, the cloth still cradled in her fingers.

"I've seen you around, I think," she said. Her lips curved ever so slightly, not a smirk, but a ghost of something warmer.

"I'm... Izzy."

She said it simply. Like she hadn't introduced herself to anyone here before. Like this moment mattered. And then, just like that, she returned to tending the wound, efficient and focused.

But the tension in her shoulders had eased.

Just a little.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Items: Lightsaber I Engagement Ring I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo | Sigil Bead Necklace ( Gift )

Tags: Isola Delaine
​

Anneliese startled slightly at the softness of "You're sweet," like a drop of warmth on skin too used to cold. She didn't know what she'd expected from the sharp-eyed girl cleaning her hand—some clinical detachment, maybe, or a wordless kindness—but not that. Not something so small and unguarded that it lodged in her ribs like it belonged there.

She glanced down, watching the way Izzy's fingers moved—careful, not out of fear, but intention. Gentle. Not rushed. Like it mattered. Like she mattered.

When Izzy spoke again, offering her name with a quiet kind of gravity, Anneliese felt something catch inside her. She could have just nodded. Could have left it there. But her mouth moved before she could stop it.

"…Izzy."

Her voice was soft, but it held a strange, sudden intensity. Fervent. Almost possessive. Like she was tasting it, claiming it. Her cheeks burned before the syllable had fully left her lips, heat rushing in a flush that made her drop her gaze fast, like she could hide behind the sting of her embarrassment.

"I'm…" Her breath hitched. She swallowed hard, then lifted her chin just slightly, as though steadying herself on something invisible.

"…Anneliese."

She said it like it meant something. Like it still meant something. The name settled between them like a vow. Then, quieter, gentler: "Annie, for friends."

The words lingered, shy and unsteady.

You could be my friend, she didn't say.
I want you to be, she didn't dare.

Her chest ached with the force of it.

And for the first time in a long while, she felt the shape of longing—fragile, human, undeniable—stir beneath her skin.

 

[Isola Delaine]

Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

"Anneliese," Isola repeated quietly.

The name lingered in her mouth for a moment, measured and careful. She said it like she was testing how it sounded against her voice, or how it fit in this small, quiet room. Then, after a breath—

"...Annie."

It was spoken with the same delicate care Anneliese had used when repeating her own name. Like they’d just exchanged something important, something earned. And for a flicker of a second, something in Isola’s expression softened.

Not a smirk. Not quite a grin.

Just a tiny smile, barely there, but it reached her eyes in a way that hadn’t happened in a long time. A warmth behind her silver gaze, like a fog lifting. Like sunlight catching glass.

Then silence.

Their eyes met again.

And stayed there.

Longer this time.

Too long.

The rest of the world dropped away — no bandages, no dorm, no aching grief — just her and those emerald eyes, steady and searching. Izzy forgot what she was doing. Forgot why she was even holding Annie’s hand in the first place.

Her heart gave one, unsteady thump against her ribs.

Stars.

The blush crept in before she could stop it, slow, deep, unmistakable. She cleared her throat gently and pulled her gaze away, quickly returning her attention to the hand like it had become the most important thing in the galaxy.

The silence shifted. Still there, but not awkward. Thick with something unspoken. She placed the bacta patch gently over the cleaned skin and pressed with utmost care along the edges to seal it.

"It should be fine now," she murmured, her voice a little huskier than before. "Try not to punch any more walls with it, though... Might not be as forgiving next time."

She kept her head low, still focused on Annie’s hand. But her fingers lingered a second longer than they had to.

Just long enough to say thank you.
Just long enough to say... I felt that, too.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Items: Lightsaber I Engagement Ring I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo | Sigil Bead Necklace ( Gift )

Tags: Isola Delaine

​

Anneliese drew her hand back, slowly. The parting of their fingers was a whisper-soft thing, barely a breath—but it left her skin alive with memory. Her hand lingered midair for a second too long, as if reluctant to accept the absence, before folding neatly into her lap.

Their eyes met.

And it was like being seen for the first time in too long.

The air in her chest stilled. Something shifted behind her ribs—something old and fragile and startled awake. Her gaze locked with Izzy's, and she couldn't move. Didn't want to. There was no fear. Just stillness. The suspended quiet of a moment tipping on the edge of becoming something else.

And then the thought came, unbidden:

What would her body feel like against mine? What would her warmth do to me—if I let it in?

Her breath hitched.

She wasn't ready for this. Not for the ache that bloomed with that thought, not for the way it pulsed hot in her stomach, bright and consuming. Not for the way it threatened to hollow her out with how badly she wanted it, how she ached for it.

Her cheeks flushed, heat blooming up her throat.

She turned her face away, careful, composed—but not fast enough to hide it.

"Thank you," she said quietly. Her voice didn't sound like hers. Too soft. Too open.

She eased back onto the bed without thinking, the motion fluid, instinctual. One arm propped behind her, the other resting loosely at her side. The tension drained from her limbs in slow surrender. Her body stretched across the covers, lean and scarred, caught somewhere between strength and exhaustion. The hem of her sports bra tugged slightly as she shifted, revealing more skin than she meant to.

She didn't fix it.

She stared at the ceiling like it might hold the answer to the question she couldn't ask.

A long breath moved through her—slow, uneven.

And then, softly:

"…I wasn’t expecting you.”

And she meant it in a dozen ways.

The words escaped before she could catch them. Not the confession she meant to make, but maybe the one that was truer. And it hung there between them, delicate and unfinished.

She didn't look at Izzy.

But her presence was a pressure she could feel down to the bone.

And gods, she didn't want her to go.

 

[Isola Delaine]

Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

Isola watched as Annie leaned back. Her gaze followed the curve of her movement, the shift of her weight across the bed, the soft stretch of muscle beneath skin, the subtle tug of fabric that exposed just a little more than intended. It wasn't deliberate. It wasn't showy.

But something about it hit her all the same.

Harder than she expected.

The flush crept up before she could stop it—again. Low across her throat. Then higher.

A deep warmth that settled behind her ears and pulsed. She looked away. Quickly. Eyes down, jaw tight. Like if she didn't, she might lose the grip on whatever control she still had.

Not now, she thought. Don't do this now.

This wasn't the time. Not after everything she'd seen in Annie's eyes. Not with grief still fresh between them like a bruise not fully healed. And not so soon after... him...

She didn't know what this was, not yet. But it stirred something unsettling and real in her chest. A kind of gravity she hadn't felt in a long time. So she stayed seated on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, silver eyes fixed on the floorboards.

Don't look back.

And then, Annie's voice broke the silence. Soft. Honest. Unexpected.

Isola didn't lift her head, but the words made something ease in her chest. Like a thread pulled loose from a knot. Her shoulders dropped just slightly, the tension bleeding out. She nodded once, then spoke, her voice low, careful.

"I'm glad I came when I did."

A pause. Then, quieter:

"You looked like you were going to hurt yourself worse. I..."

She hesitated. Not because she didn't mean it, but because she did... too much.

"Didn't want that."

Still, she didn't look up. She couldn't. The moment felt too close, too charged. She just sat there, listening to the quiet between them. Feeling it settle around her like warmth, or warning.

What is happening right now?

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Items: Lightsaber I Engagement Ring I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo | Sigil Bead Necklace ( Gift )

Tags: Isola Delaine
​

Anneliese didn't speak at first.

She lay where she was, quiet, the silence pulsing in time with her heart. The bed beneath her felt impossibly warm—like the heat had crept in from somewhere else. From Izzy's gaze. From the words she wasn't saying. From the ones she had.

And then slowly, she sat up.

Not abruptly. Not nervously. But like something inside her had to move—had to lean toward the truth before it vanished.

Her knees bent, drawing beneath her. Her palms pressed softly to the bed on either side. Her body, long and quiet and curved with tension, seemed to glow in the dim light, flushed along the neck, the chest, the line of her jaw. She didn't hide it. Couldn't.

She was lit from within, and afraid of what it meant.

"I know," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "You didn't want that."

Her gaze fell to her lap, to her hands. Then rose again—straight to her.

"I didn't either."

There was a gravity to it. Like every word had weight, like if she spoke too fast it might all scatter.

"Not sure I would have stopped though… then you came, out of no where, as if you were fated for me. And I saw your face. And it—" she drew in a shallow breath, lashes fluttering as if trying to collect herself "—it stopped something in me from breaking."

She blinked again, slower this time. Like her thoughts were catching up to her body. Like she could feel too much at once and didn't know where to put it.

Her fingers curled against the sheets, grounding herself.

"I don't know what's happening to me," she admitted, her voice low. "It's like something's waking up I didn't know I still had. And it's—loud… clear….”

She hesitated, breath catching in her throat.

"I don't know if I should leave. If I should go walk until it fades, or… if that would even help."

Her throat worked, eyes not leaving Isola's. Not anymore.

"I don't want to misread this, but my body— my heart…." she exhaled sharply, almost a laugh, pained and wondering—"it won't lie for me."

She looked down again, then back up.

"Do you feel it too? Or am I just—"

“So stupid… you just ruined everything.” She thought inwardly.

She didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't have to.


Because every part of her was asking. Without pride. Without pressure. Just open.

Shifting now, she began to stand up, Annie wonder if she had over stayed her welcome — and wondered if Izzy would ever mistake giving her comfort or kindness again.

 

[Isola Delaine]

Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

Isola didn’t move. She just sat there, still, quiet, staring at the floor while a storm she hadn’t invited began to stir behind her ribs. She heard every word. Each one landed like a knock on a door she’d locked years ago. A feeling she thought she’d buried under grief and duty and survival. But now—

Now it was rising. Loud. Clear. Alive.

And it scared the hell out of her. She didn't even know this girl.

Her breath caught. Her throat tightened.

She felt it,that pull, that raw, aching gravity in the room. The vulnerability laid bare in front of her like an open wound. Not just Annie’s, but hers too, suddenly, painfully. And she didn’t know what to do with it. Her lips parted, just slightly. A breath, a thought, a something reaching for voice.

"I..."

But the rest didn’t come.

Because how could she say it?

How could she explain that she’d already lost someone like this? That she’d burned for him, a slow and steady fire until the day it went dark in her arms? That feeling this now — again — was like walking out on thin ice, knowing it would crack? She clenched her jaw. Looked down again. Silent. Still seated. Afraid to move, because movement meant commitment, and commitment meant something real.

And real still hurt.

So when Annie stood, gentle, uncertain, beautiful in her openness, Izzy felt the quiet panic rise in her chest.

The silence stretched.

And then, barely above a whisper—

"...D-Don’t go..."

Her voice cracked on the last word. Not enough to break. But enough to show the fear beneath it. The hope. She still didn’t look up. But her hand, resting at her side, curled slightly into the blanket.

She didn’t want to be alone.
Not tonight.
Not after this.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Items: Lightsaber I Engagement Ring I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo | Sigil Bead Necklace ( Gift )

Tags: Isola Delaine
​

Anneliese didn't move at first.

That whisper—don't go—it cracked something in her. Not loud, not dramatic. Just deep. Quiet. Real.

She turned slowly. Like too much speed might undo the moment. Might wake them both from whatever fragile, holy thing this was becoming.

And then she was there—on her knees in front of Isola, close enough to feel her breath. Her hands hovered for half a second before settling—one to the mattress, the other rising, hesitating, then gently cradling Isola's cheek.

"I wasn't going to leave," she said softly. "But I didn't know if staying would feel like a mistake. I didn't know if I was just…" Her throat tightened. "Seeing something that wasn't there."

She drew a breath like it hurt.

"But I feel it. This pull. Like it's got its own gravity and I'm already past the point of resisting. And I'm scared. I'm scared of being wrong. Of hurting you. Of ruining something I don't even have words for yet."

Her other hand rose, brushing against Isola's side, barely there. The need in her—impossible to hide—rushed up like tidewater.

"I don't want to overstep," she whispered. "But I don't want to lie to myself, either. Not about this. Not about you."

Their eyes met—bright silver and storm-dark—and something in Anneliese just broke. A dam giving way.

And then she kissed her.

Not shy. Not cautious. Fervent.

Like it had been waiting behind her ribs for years, clawing to be born.

Her mouth met with Izzy’s — hungry, breathless, reverent. All the fear, all the confusion, all the ache poured into the space between them and caught fire. Anneliese's fingers curled against Isola's jaw, her body pressing forward, helpless against the pull.

And still, even in the fever of it, she breathed against her lips between kisses:

"I'm here… and I don’t want to go anywhere..…"

Not a promise. A confession.

 

[Isola Delaine]

Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

The moment Annie’s lips met her own, everything fell apart. Not in the way explosions happen, but in the way dams rupture. Quietly at first. Then all at once. Isola’s breath hitched against her lips, caught between surprise and something far more dangerous: recognition.

Because the way Annie kissed her — fierce, aching, real — it wasn’t just affection. It was need. And she felt that need like a strike to the chest. For one second, just one, she let herself fall into it. Her hands, trembling, found Annie’s waist. Held her there — close — like it might steady the storm building inside. Like if she didn’t hold on, she might fall apart all over again.

But then—

The grief hit her.

Like a wave crashing through her ribs. Sudden. Merciless.

That kiss awakened something she'd buried so deep she’d nearly forgotten it was there. The warmth. The ache. The fragile hope. And with it came the memory of him. Of late-night laughter in dim cabins. Of calloused hands brushing hers. Of whispered promises and quiet comfort. Of the moment it all ended in fire and silence.

Her chest tightened. Her throat burned. Her eyes stung. Her body trembled. She pulled back suddenly, not far, just enough for air, for breath, for the tears finally breaking loose. Her hand rose to Annie’s wrist, not to push away, but to anchor herself. A lifeline in a moment that felt too deep, too soon.

"I..."

The word cracked in her throat like glass. She couldn’t finish it. She looked at Annie — really looked —and in her silver eyes was something bare and scared and aching.

"I-It’s not you," she whispered, voice barely there. "It’s..." She tried to breathe. Swallowed hard. Her lip trembled.

"It’s been s-so long. S-Since... Since I... let anyone..."

Her composure shattered. And still, even through the pain, she reached forward. Slow. Gentle. Like pain and hope were the same thing now.

She’s hurting. You’re broken. This is a mistake.

But her body didn’t listen.

Her grief didn’t care.

Somewhere inside, buried under the ache and the self-protection, something yearned to be held. Touched. Seen. Her hands rose, slow and shaking, and finally, finally, she kissed Anneliese back.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t careful. It was raw.

Like a door that had been shut for too long had just creaked open, and all the light — and all the darkness — poured through.

She breathed out against Annie’s lips, barely able to hold herself up, and broke the kiss just enough to let their foreheads touch. Her eyes stayed closed. Her breath came fast. She stayed close. Forehead pressed to Annie’s. Breath shallow. Skin flushed. Her voice came as a hoarse whisper, barely louder than the quiet between them.

"W-What is happening right now..." she whispered, voice hoarse with disbelief. There was a pause.

"We... We don’t even know each other..."

And yet, her hands didn’t move. Her body didn’t pull away.

Because something in her, small and terrified and alive, wasn’t ready to let go.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Items: Lightsaber I Engagement Ring I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo | Sigil Bead Necklace ( Gift )

Tags: Isola Delaine
​

Anneliese couldn't breathe.

Not because of fear. Not shame. But because the second Izzy kissed her back — really kissed her — it was like the entire world dropped out beneath her and she still didn't fall. She flew.

She barely heard the words after.

What is happening right now…
We don't even know each other…

No. They didn't. Not with names, or facts, or stories traded across years.

But something in her knew.

And that knowing burned.

Her fingers found Izzy's. Threaded through. Clung. She pulled her close, forehead to forehead, eyes wide and stinging.

"I don't care," she whispered, voice cracking. "I don't care if we don't. I don't know what this is, I don't have a name for it—gods, Izzy, I don't want one."

Her voice trembled, thick with guilt and want and something too sacred to name.

"But when you touched me, when you held me—" her voice cracked again, raw "—it felt like someone finally saw me."

She laughed once, short, breathless, bitter. "And then you pulled away and I thought I ruined it. I thought I was disgusting. I pushed. I'm sorry, I—I didn't mean to—"

She stopped. Bit her lip. Shook her head hard.

"No. No, I meant it. I meant every second of it. And if it scared you, I'll back away, I will. But don't you dare think I'll lie and pretend this didn't happen. That I didn't feel you pull me in like I was something worth keeping."

Her hands moved to Izzy's face — gentle, reverent. Her thumb traced the line of her cheekbone, the corner of her mouth, like memorizing something holy.

"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered. "Not unless you ask me to."

Then, she stood — just enough to take Izzy's hand again and guide her down, slow and soft, the mattress dipping beneath them as their bodies aligned.

Not rushed.
Not hungry now.
Just present.

She curled in beside her, their foreheads pressed together again, their hands woven like ivy.

"Give me all of it," she murmured. "The ache. The weight. All of it."

A pause. A breath.

"And I'll give you mine."

 

[Isola Delaine]

Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

Izzy’s breath caught as Annie drew her in again, so close their foreheads nearly brushed. She wanted to speak — tried to — but her mouth opened only to close again. The words wouldn’t come. Not yet. Too many things lived behind them: ghosts, memories, the tremble of something new she didn’t know how to name.

Annie’s gaze searched her, not demanding. Just offering. And that — that — was what broke through the last of Izzy’s fear. She didn’t need to say it. Not aloud. Not when Annie could already see it.

That it had been so long.

That no one had touched her like this.

That she didn’t believe anyone ever would again.

But still, Annie was here. And her eyes, piercing emerald and steady, said I won’t leave you. Not tonight. Not for this.

Izzy’s hand lifted, tentative at first, then firmer, sliding along Annie’s side until it found the small of her back. She drew her close, steady and delicate, and breathed her name like a promise against her lips.

"Stay..."

And Annie did.

She curled into her, soft and quiet. Their mouths met again, gentler now, unhurried. A slow burn. Skin brushing skin. Breath mingling. Fingers tracing lines not to ignite, but to remember. A whisper of shared understanding passed between them, without a word. Just warmth.

Just trust.

The ache would still be there in the morning. The fear. The grief.

But for now...

For tonight...

They chose each other.

And in the hush of moonlight and linen, where hearts steadied and pulses aligned, the world narrowed to a touch, a sigh, and the weightless press of two souls saying yes.

* * *

The morning light slipped in gently through the narrow window, brushing pale gold across the floor and up the edge of the bed like it was afraid to intrude. Izzy lay still, eyes already open, breath shallow.

Annie was still curled against her, bare skin warm beneath the blanket, one hand loosely draped across Izzy’s waist, fingers twitching faintly in sleep. The red of her hair spilled across the pillow, catching the morning light like embers.

Izzy didn’t move. Not yet.

Her gaze traced the shape of the room, as if trying to anchor herself in the present, anything solid to cling to. But her mind was already drifting, fumbling through the shards of memory that didn’t quite feel real.

The kiss.

The bed.

The heat of their bodies tangled beneath sheets that still smelled of breath and salt and something fragile she hadn’t touched in so long.

It had all moved so fast.

So fast.

And it had felt— gods, it had felt like breathing again after years underwater. Like light pouring into places she’d sealed off so long ago she’d forgotten the way they ached. But now...

Now the ache was back.

Different. Sharper.

Not because of Annie.

Because of him.

She swallowed hard, the knot already rising in her throat. Her eyes flicked toward the ceiling, unblinking.

She’d told herself she was okay. That she’d buried it. That she could carry the loss like another scar, silent and unremarkable.

But this morning proved her wrong.

Because waking up warm in someone’s arms made her remember what it felt like to lose that warmth. To hold someone you loved and know it wouldn’t last. To see the light go out in someone’s eyes and have to keep going anyway.

The grief came in quietly. No warning. Just a tightness behind her ribs, a sting at the edges of her vision, the rush of memory like a bruise blooming all over again.

She blinked hard.

A tear slipped loose.

She turned her head into the pillow, wiped it quickly away with the heel of her hand.

And then Annie stirred beside her.

A breath.

A shift.

The faintest hum in her throat as she pressed unconsciously closer, still half-asleep, her nose brushing Izzy’s shoulder, her fingers tightening gently around her.

Izzy closed her eyes.

Buried the rest of the tears deep.

And when Annie opened her eyes… Izzy would smile. Soft. Tired. But real.

Even if her heart was still trying to figure out how to beat for two ghosts at once.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Items: Lightsaber I Engagement Ring I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo | Sigil Bead Necklace ( Gift )

Tags: Isola Delaine
​

The light touched her face before anything else—gentle, almost hesitant, like it, too, wasn't ready to wake her. But Annie stirred anyway.

Not from the sun.

From the warmth pressed against her. The slow, steady rise and fall of Izzy's breathing beneath the covers. The subtle shift of energy in the bed that told her Izzy was awake but still. Still and silent in that way that carried weight.

Annie didn't open her eyes at first. She listened.

She could feel the tension in Izzy's body. Not fear. Not discomfort. Something quieter. Sadder. Like someone trying to hold the ocean behind their ribs.

And that knowing…it cut through Annie's drowsiness like a clean blade.

She exhaled softly, and only then did her body begin to move—slow, languid, careful not to startle. She nudged forward beneath the sheets, her bare legs brushing Izzy's, the swell of her chest pressing gently to Izzy's side.

Her nose found the curve of Izzy's shoulder. Warm. Soft. Familiar in a way that was already addictive.

She pressed her lips there—just once. A kiss, not of hunger, but grounding. Anchoring.

Still here.

Her hand tightened slightly around Izzy's waist, like she could pull her closer with intention alone. Like she could anchor her right back.

And only then did Annie open her eyes.

Izzy didn't turn. But Annie saw the shimmer at the edge of her profile. The way her lashes clumped just slightly. The set of her jaw like someone trying to remember how to breathe.

Annie didn't speak. Not yet.

Instead, she kissed her again. A little higher this time. Just below the nape. She breathed her in like confession.

Her fingers moved—slow strokes along Izzy's stomach, each one a promise: I'm here. I'm not afraid of what's hurting you. I want to hold it, if you'll let me.

The remnants of yesterday—the fight with Roman, the screaming, the bitter words still echoing in her mind—they were distant now. Like dust caught in morning light, visible only if she looked for it.

But Annie didn't look back.

Because Izzy was here. In her arms. In her bed. Still.

And for Annie, that wasn't an accident. It wasn't a fling or a mistake she'd regret when the sun rose.

No.
It felt…ordained.

Annie shifted again, her lips ghosting along Izzy's shoulder to her neck, to her jaw. Soft. Worshipful. Each kiss a note in a song she hadn't known she'd been waiting to sing.

She whispered it then, low and certain against Izzy's skin:

"I don't need to know everything right now. But I will. I want to. Every piece. Every scar. Every strange thought at midnight. I'm not scared of any of it. Not if it's you."

She curled closer, pulling the blanket with her, a sigh escaping like a secret she could finally speak.

"I'm fething crazy about you, Izzy. Don't know how, don't know why. But I am. And I don't want this to be something we pretend was nothing."

She paused, her cheek resting against Izzy's shoulder again.

"And if you're hurting… you don't have to hide it. You're not alone in it anymore."

Annie didn't ask for a response.
She didn't need one.

 

[Isola Delaine]

Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

Izzy’s breath caught somewhere between her chest and throat. Not from pain. Not from panic. From the warmth. Annie’s arms around her weren’t tight, not restrictive, but thoroughly present. Certain. Like they belonged there. Like they knew her, in ways Izzy hadn’t dared let anyone know her in years.

And that was what undid her.

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard, but the pressure didn’t leave. It rose, slow and aching. The kind that built behind the ribs, around the heart, until it spilled upward. She clenched her jaw to hold it down. It didn’t help. A single tear slipped sideways over the bridge of her nose. She didn’t wipe it. Not yet.

Annie’s kisses, light as breath along her neck, didn’t demand anything. Didn’t pry. Just... waited.

That made it worse. Better. Everything.

Izzy exhaled a trembling breath and finally, finally turned. She shifted gently beneath the sheets until she faced Annie. Their legs brushed again, bare skin to bare skin. But it was the eyes — Annie’s still-sleepy, open, unwavering gaze — that rooted her in place.

Izzy pressed her forehead gently to Annie’s. Closed her eyes. And for a long time, said nothing. Their breath mingled. Soft and warm. Like silence could be a language if you held it long enough. Eventually — quietly — she spoke.

"I don’t get it," she whispered, voice raw. "You... You barely know me. And still, you look at me like..."

She trailed off. A breath. A swallow.

"I’m not... I’m not special. I’m not worth this. I’m just…" Her voice cracked. "I’m a mess. Just a... tired, broken mess. I don't even know what I'm doing with my life."

She almost stopped there. But Annie’s hand had found her side, thumb brushing gently over her ribs. Grounding her. Inviting her forward. Izzy blinked again, more tears slipping down, though her voice stayed steady this time, low, but sure.

"There was someone once. He... was everything... I loved him more than anything. But he... he died. In front of me."

The memory of his face flooded her mind. Handsome, rugged, garbed in Jedi robes. She could feel the presence of his lightsaber still sitting on her desk. She didn't need the Force to sense its weight. Her lips parted like she might say more. But it took a long time before she did.

"I thought after that, I was done. That I couldn’t ever — wouldn't ever — let someone close like that again."

She looked at Annie then, really looked, eyes glassy.

"But then you... you just..." She exhaled, struggling to find the right words. "Last night, it... it... If it was just a one-off... I... I understand..."

Her voice broke completely. She didn’t sob, there was no sound. Just a quiet collapse, the kind that lived in the shoulders and eyes. She pressed her forehead tighter to Annie’s, trying to breathe through it.

"I didn’t mean to... to let you in. But last night, I... I felt things I haven't felt in... such a long time... Th-the way you looked at me... It's... I've not... I... I don’t know what to do with it. I don't... know how to... not be afraid."

More tears slipped down her face then, unable to stop, as years and years of intentional self-isolation and building up thick armour suddenly broke apart completely, revealing all the raw, bleeding wounds beneath. The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full. Heavy. Sacred.

But Izzy didn’t look away this time. Her hand found Annie’s, threading their fingers together as if desperately needing her as an anchor.

"I'm... sorry... I didn't mean to... to give you my problems... Not when you're hurting too..."