More Tea?
When Corellia had suffered its recent and most irreversible tragedy, the effect on Miriya had been significant. Such an event provoked a range of emotions, some being grief, anger, or indifference. She grieved, in her way, and a prolonged bout of soul-searching was provoked into action. As always, she fell back on the oldest files in her memory, those associated with the teachings Rhuan had imparted to her - to help those in need, and do what must be done. To do what was necessary.
Not what was right, not what was good, but what was necessary. The three of these were, as always, a matter of opinion. Truth is either objective or subjective, and it was subjective for these things. What was good was not always wholly so - [member="Lucien Cordel"], for example, was good company, was good to her, but may not be an intrinsically good person by general consensus. Of course, what was good for the people was not the exclusive territory of those considered to be 'good'.
She had left him behind for the picking through of her soul when the Fringe Confederacy stood on its last legs. Now with that galactic government having faded into the mists of time, it wasn't necessarily the case that she would be returning to that sector of the galaxy, so it was fortunate that within her sparse communications with the Sith Lord that he had always left the invitation for her to rejoin him at his current holdings on Hypori, should she 'change her mind'. Not that her mind had changed in the first place, but it was made up now. Her 'self' was found, and she was assured more than ever of what her place was in this life. She wouldn't have the intended effect whilst mulling over 'do or do not' with the Jedi. Enough of that.
She came to his door, late into the evening - the Mitternacht nestled safely into the local spaceport - and eschewed the 'doorbell', instead turning her hand and rapping it with the back of her knuckles; a softer sound than if she had done it the other way around, and waited, quiet and patient.
Not what was right, not what was good, but what was necessary. The three of these were, as always, a matter of opinion. Truth is either objective or subjective, and it was subjective for these things. What was good was not always wholly so - [member="Lucien Cordel"], for example, was good company, was good to her, but may not be an intrinsically good person by general consensus. Of course, what was good for the people was not the exclusive territory of those considered to be 'good'.
She had left him behind for the picking through of her soul when the Fringe Confederacy stood on its last legs. Now with that galactic government having faded into the mists of time, it wasn't necessarily the case that she would be returning to that sector of the galaxy, so it was fortunate that within her sparse communications with the Sith Lord that he had always left the invitation for her to rejoin him at his current holdings on Hypori, should she 'change her mind'. Not that her mind had changed in the first place, but it was made up now. Her 'self' was found, and she was assured more than ever of what her place was in this life. She wouldn't have the intended effect whilst mulling over 'do or do not' with the Jedi. Enough of that.
She came to his door, late into the evening - the Mitternacht nestled safely into the local spaceport - and eschewed the 'doorbell', instead turning her hand and rapping it with the back of her knuckles; a softer sound than if she had done it the other way around, and waited, quiet and patient.