Tyrant Queen of Darkness
"Testing..."
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Adean Castor
The crypt chamber was silent.
Silent, save for the low mechanical thrum of ancient pylons buried beneath the stone, powering technology so old it defied categorization. Sith runes shimmered faintly across the floor in concentric rings, pulsing with dim red and violet light like a heartbeat beneath the surface. The air was thick—charged not just with the energy of the Force, but with something older. Hungrier. This place, like so much of Virelia's design, had been forgotten by all but her. And now it had purpose again.
She stood at the center of it.
Darth Virelia—Serina no longer, not here, not now—was a figure carved of shadow and will. Her armor whispered with power, sculpted like the body of a goddess and reinforced like the shell of a predator. Sleek obsidian plates hugged her form in layered elegance, ridged and seamless, the only organic softness her lips—painted like bruised temptation—and the slow, deliberate movement of her hands as they folded behind her back. The bottom part of her helm was absent.
Six violet eyes glowed faintly against the dim, their insectile arrangement subtle now in the half-light. Watchful. Patient. Hungry.
She had not summoned Adean with urgency.
She had summoned her with expectation.
This was not some delicate conversation. Not some twisted seduction. The foundation between them had already been laid, brick by brick, in breath and voice and the silent surrender of two bodies pressed too close to ignore what they had become. That part of the trial was done.
Now came the next.
How powerful was Adean? What had she become, truly, beneath Virelia's hand?
Was she merely a girl playing the part of a Sithling, leaning into the gravity of affection and fear because it was safer than ambition? Or was she something more—something greater—something Virelia could forge?
The walls around the chamber seemed to close in ever so slightly, like the air was thickening with invisible hands. There were no lights save the runes. No doors visible behind the veil of darkness that had descended. No windows. It was a tomb—but a warm one. Intimate. Claustrophobic. Designed to peel back layers until all that remained was essence.
Virelia breathed in through her nose, slow and poised. Awaiting her arrival.