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Meetra Surik was beautiful. Truly beautiful. The holo image didn't do her justice.
Her hair was luminous.
Her eyes were alluring.
Her lips were enticing.
Her figure – the shape of her body - was intoxicating.
Sion thought of their encounter on Korriban and wondered what would have happened if he had been able to lean across the locked blades and touch his lips to hers. Would she have been repulsed? Would she have pulled away? Would she have become enraged, engaging him more ferociously in the battle? Had she done any of those things, had she resisted him – he would have pursued her.
Perhaps he would have stood behind her with a blade to her throat and enjoyed the proximity. Somehow he would have bested her combat skills and found a way to be close to her.
But he had not done any such thing and now Surik was gone.
The earlier pride and and respect for her from their duel had grown in intensity and now he could not banish her image or name from his mind.
She was so beautiful. He couldn't seem to stop looking at the holo.
Why hadn't he offered her the chance of an alliance? Broken Jedi or no, she was powerful. Like him, she knew the taste of pain and betrayal. She understood death. He could have taught her how to embrace it. Together, they could have overthrown Traya and used their power to rule the galaxy together. She would have made a worthy companion.
Why hadn't he asked her to join him?
Sion looked back at the holo. Meetra Surik was so beautiful.
For a moment, the all encompassing pain from within vanished and his grip on the Dark Side loosened. His body trembled and began to crumble from within. His surprise and fear instantly to anger at his lack of control. The rage within him beckoned the dark energy, and soon Sion was back in control of his decaying flesh. He could never ask Surik to join him as long as he was drawn to her. His fascination with her beauty poisoned him and made him weak. She was a distraction. She would mean his certain death.
Trying to banish the exile's name and face from his mind, he was disgusted when he realized that she would not leave him. Like his master, it seemed the the Exile had been permanently etched into his brain. Her beauty left scars in his memory.
She made him weak and he could not resist her. He hated that she would not leave him alone.
He hated her.
He hated her for being a Jedi and his enemy. He hated her for provoking such alien emotions within him. He hated her because he would have to kill her. He hated her because he knew that given the chance to rule, she would have rejected him. He hated her because she would have been repulsed by his advances.
There had been a time when he had been beautiful too. There had been a time before his first death - the Exile along with any other woman would have found him appealing. Surely she would have come willingly to him then.
But that was a long time ago and dwelling on a fantasy of beauty just made reality all the more ugly.
The Jedi Exile had to die.
He knew that Traya wanted the Exile. The Jedi would either die quickly by Traya's hand or die slowly from within as her spirit was corrupted and enslaved by his master. Either way - she would no longer be her; she would no longer be beautiful and he could not allow that to happen.
He resolved to preserve her beauty and kill her before the Exile ever encountered his master. It was a much kinder fate. She deserved her beauty.
Turning towards the holo, Sion shut it off and looked away.