Violet Hermit
Dromund Kaas was her home now.
Here, the dark side of the Force seeped into every brick, every crevice—watching over her with a steady, imposing calm like a sentinel. It was a reminder of who she was, who she served, and Nida clung to the belief that one day, this would all be wanted, natural, and comfortable.
The nights following the attack on Myrkr were harder than usual. Sleep didn’t come to her, and she’d resorted to herbs and pills that would pull her under for a few hours of desperate slumbering. It was fitful, not restful.
Tangled in the sheets of her bed, Nida listened to the sound of her own breathing. Flipping onto her side, she extended an arm on instinct, groping the empty space next to her. Her heart sank, as it always did. Even when they’d been separated by work, she was comforted by the fact that she could count the days where they would be together again. Now, that day stretched so far into the future that she wasn’t even sure it was there. He wasn’t there. Thirdas would never be there again.
A few hours later, she’d managed to drift off, her heart aching so desperately for the companionship she’d ripped herself from that she thought she would simply fade into nothing. As sleep took her, she projected her yearning and it walked the galaxy, seeking her lost love in ripples of the Force.
She was no longer in her bed, now she was on a grassy hill. Flowers and other greenery stretched far in every direction, reaching out to meet the hazy horizon of the blue sky. Nida knelt down and plucked a flower from the ground, twirling the bud between her fingers. As with most dreams, the color and shape seemed to be shifting to the point where she couldn’t identify what it was exactly.
It didn’t frustrate her, but she felt strange.
Thirdas Heavenshield
Here, the dark side of the Force seeped into every brick, every crevice—watching over her with a steady, imposing calm like a sentinel. It was a reminder of who she was, who she served, and Nida clung to the belief that one day, this would all be wanted, natural, and comfortable.
The nights following the attack on Myrkr were harder than usual. Sleep didn’t come to her, and she’d resorted to herbs and pills that would pull her under for a few hours of desperate slumbering. It was fitful, not restful.
Tangled in the sheets of her bed, Nida listened to the sound of her own breathing. Flipping onto her side, she extended an arm on instinct, groping the empty space next to her. Her heart sank, as it always did. Even when they’d been separated by work, she was comforted by the fact that she could count the days where they would be together again. Now, that day stretched so far into the future that she wasn’t even sure it was there. He wasn’t there. Thirdas would never be there again.
A few hours later, she’d managed to drift off, her heart aching so desperately for the companionship she’d ripped herself from that she thought she would simply fade into nothing. As sleep took her, she projected her yearning and it walked the galaxy, seeking her lost love in ripples of the Force.
She was no longer in her bed, now she was on a grassy hill. Flowers and other greenery stretched far in every direction, reaching out to meet the hazy horizon of the blue sky. Nida knelt down and plucked a flower from the ground, twirling the bud between her fingers. As with most dreams, the color and shape seemed to be shifting to the point where she couldn’t identify what it was exactly.
It didn’t frustrate her, but she felt strange.
