Soft moans escaped Settie's lips as she cuddled with Vaust on her plush couch, their legs intertwined, his dark crimson arm wrapped around her bare waist, his lips planting soft teasing kisses on the nape of her neck.
The dream seemed innocent enough, or so Settie thought, her mind looping a moment lost to time. Years had passed since the dream was reality, and the details of the memory were starting to fade. She should have known better than to share such a memory with the Watcher, who frequently haunted her dreams. She should have left this locked away in her mind. Now she was vulnerable to his games.
Sure enough, the dream transformed from one memory to another. But she didn't know if it was her doing, or the Watcher's.
Settie and Vaust were now on Korriban, off the beaten path, camping on the hot sand as night fell, locked in an embrace by the kindled fire. Clothes and armor were being tugged this way and that, tossed aside (and thankfully not into the fire) for unbridled access to each other's bodies.
"Why had it always been sith purebloods she was attracted to, anyways?" The thought came to mind mid lip-lock, but she wasn't sure if it was her own thought, or the Watcher's. Without thinking twice, she found resolution to the question. It was rather simple, actually. She had the same fiery temper as most purebloods. So those that tolerated her kind, she found no animosity with.
Her mind completely adrift in the memory, Settie's dream played out with crisp detail of her tryst with Vaust on the hot sands.
Unfortunately, it was her vivid memories that the Watcher toyed with. Suddenly, the smoky fire next to them filled her senses, but was mixed with petrichor, and the sweet smell of grass. The heat of the desert dropped to a cool breeze in an open tent next to the fire, the wind occasionally picking up droplets of water off of the trees overhead and showering the couple.
Then, with a sharp inhale, he was deep inside her, and her mind was only focused on the pleasure, on their connection. As he laid on top of her, Settie's eyes locked on Vaust's, she admired the golden piercings that decorated his sharp features, his strong face tendrils flaring.
Settie wrapped her legs around Vaust and pulled his dark crimson body closer against her own milky voluptuous frame, her breasts bouncing with each thrust of his body on her. She closed her eyes, lost in ecstasy, when the sweet singing of a woman coupled with a stringed instrument nearby filled the quiet space between their moans.
Realizing this was unfamiliar, Settie opened her eyes again, but everything felt different. They were no longer on the hot sand, but cushioned on a blanket over a patch of damp grass. She felt much warmer, sweaty, even, against this man...this human man. A pair of golden eyes looked back at her with a smirk on his lips, his long dark hair tickling her neck as he thrusted against her. And her own head was cushioned by something, what was it? Clothes? No, she had hair. A grasp behind her revealed she had long thick waves of jet black hair.
Horrified, she recognized the Watcher, and assumed she was now Morrigan, blending memories together. She lifted her hands up and saw long black painted nails, filed to a sharp point on each finger, with silver rings decorating the bony fingers. Settie began to panic, worrying that the Watcher was performing some sort of ritual in his existence to bind herself to Morrigan. A possession, of sorts. Having none of it, she resisted against him, grabbing him by the throat and trying to hitch up the blanket away from him. But he retaliated by grabbing her hips and keeping her pinned down, a dark laugh following. She squeezed his throat harder, but he appeared to enjoy it, a deep grunt vibrating in his throat against her fingers, and his thrusts quickened against her, enjoying the game.
"Of course he would enjoy it rough" Settie thinks to herself, quickly scrambling for another idea. Bringing her plan into effect, she released his neck, and brought her knees up to her chest to punch the Watcher in the gut with the heel of her foot. For added effect, she grasped her left hand balled up into a fist with her right, and banged the makeshift hammer against the Watcher's collarbone, hoping to bruise, or break. The punch to the gut was enough, and he stumbled back.
But it was not real. And she had shoved Vaust rather violently off of her, back in the desert. He looked angry, hurt, and scared all at once, his hands grasping his abdomen. She wasn't sure, but she thought she saw a droplet of blood fall from between his fingers.
"What the?!" Vaust uttered, grunting in pain as he sat back on his legs, clutching his abdomen tighter now. Settie bolted upright to explain, but Vaust vanished, and the fire blew out. She sat alone, on the hot sand. The silence deafening. She shivered, hands blindly scrambling for clothes, but there was nothing there. The darkness closed in on her, and she felt trapped. Then, the wind whistles loudly, surrounding her. In the distance, she can hear a deep voice, from no discerning direction.
"You've had many lovers, my dear." The Watcher's words cascade into the wind around her, enveloping her with fear, and judgement. Settie tucks her head down towards her knees and screams, trying to drown out the harsh whistling of the wind, covering her ears with her hands.
The Watcher had lost control of the dream.
"I believe you are sexually frustrated, my dear. This is the third sex dream you've had this week. Though, this dream was much tamer than some of the others you've had."
"You can't keep doing this to me!" Settie sits up in bed panting from the shock, sweat beading on her forehead. What she had failed to realize, and did each time, was that this was not the end of her dream. It was simply the Watcher's invitation into her mind.
"Oh I did nothing save tweaked it a little, and have shown nothing but truth, my dear. We have many reflections."
"No." Settie jumped out of bed and put a thick robe over her revealing sheer nightgown. She wouldn't let this wisp of a creature manipulate her dreams any further. She was resolute. Firm.
He laughs, a dark echo in her endless dream "You fight so hard to keep your individuality, but don't you see?" A wall of crystal mirrors circle around her, each casting a reflection of her - bent and warped until they showed Settie her many faces.
A petite blonde ready for an adventure - A fiery young adult with wild hair with a spell of razor sharp light arching out between her fingers - a boyish girl with short hair and a bulky overly large data pad tucked under her arm - A witch with midnight hair and blood red robes, grinning, with blue flames in the palm of her hands - others beyond description of strange species and dress.
"You are an individual. A strong willed one. One that persists over more than one place and time. In each reflection? There is no one else like you. That's how I found you. I looked for you. Here."
The mirrors fade away and they are on her ship, in hyperspace, thousands of parsecs away from any living creature.
"In this place and time, knowing that you would be here."
Settie stands rigid, hands at her sides, grasping her robe tightly. Her reality was twisting, along with her mind. She bit her tongue just to be sure she was real. The salty metallic taste kept her grounded.
"To what end? You still won't tell me why you have sought me out. If you already have Morrigan, the witch, why bother me?"
Bother?" He smiles softly, yet never seeming to stray far from his natural smirk.* "Why? What could I honestly do? Just in dream?" *he walks a little, a man of small stature, adorned in layers of golden embroidery and white, handspun linen, his long hair brushed back, just like her Master's, falling like a curtain of black silk down his back. The soft round face, of warm dusky hues and suntouched cheeks could be her Master's, if the pureblood and been born human.
They both had the same eyes. Gold. Heavy lidded. Seemingly content, warm, welcoming. Understanding.
"I sought you out just to see you. To know you. As I've come to know of your reflections." he chuckles. "Truth be told, I enjoy watching you... be you." He smirks.
Settie swallows hard, her palms sweating against her robe. She kept still, eyes locked on his. Determined not to lose focus.
"You are a deceptive snake. Trying to twist your victims with sweet words. You thrive in mindgames. I know that you're lying. There's something you want. I just don't know what. Not yet, at least. Perhaps it is Vorteco's power?"
"Suspicious. Trying to see all the angles. As always. Very Good." He chuckles. "You've been abused too many times in the past to expect otherwise. I understand."
He smiles still, taking a seat - Vorteco's seat - at the foot of her ridiculously plush couch. Leaning back. Relaxed. "Though, what do you truly know of me? Why would you suspect me of chasing after power I already have?"
Despite her firm grasp on her robe, and the blood in her mouth, she found her mind manipulated once again. Suddenly, she was sitting on the couch behind the Watcher, expertly braiding his silk black hair. Horrified, she let go, but it didn't matter, the vision was implanted now.
A blurring hallucination of versions of their relationship bound into one, a conglomerate memory. In one, it was a gesture of friendship, of family. This sandy blonde woman had always braided the long dark hair of her best friend - a younger, human version of Vorteco if Settie ever saw one. In another, the spiky blonde haired thin woman embraced her lover from behind, wrapping her legs around his body as she tried to seduce the scarred, stiff man, running her fingers through his perfect lush short hair after a tryst in the bedroom. But her embrace was not returned. The love was shallow, temporary. A chemical fix of satisfaction. But the bond was strong. They had yet to realize that their lives were so deeply intertwined.
Settie felt overwhelmed with memories, with feelings that weren't hers. Yet in this moment, she was each of these women, and not herself.
"I...I can't even braid hair. Enough of your tricks! I have no hair, thus no experience in braiding!" She stammers at first, frozen on the couch. But her words grow stronger cringing from the Watcher's touch as he leaned back and laid his head in her lap, draping his arms over his head and grabbing her thighs.
The Watcher chuckles, seated upon the floor and leaning against her legs, his own propped up on the coffee table now. He's stripped naked down to his trousers, chest and wrists covered in deep, ritualistic scars that were never given the time to fully heal.
"Well," he runs a long hand through his hair, teasing out one of the many, intricate braids. "You've done a fine job, considering. Perhaps your hands are the ones that remember. I believe there are many aspects of 'ourselves' that we collectively share, a sense of body or the flesh being one of them. We own that too, in a way. Shaped around our soul, so to speak, out of the materials our respective world provides."
He smirks then, turning his head round to smirk at her. "Or universe, as my other, or more accurately your Master, so insists."
"Nonsense" Settie sputters, crossing her arms in defiance. "It is simply a learned talent from Vorteco himself. Our minds are bonded, thus, I know how to braid from his own experience. I simply forgot myself. There is no connection but that."
"The rest of it is your manipulation"
"Oh, you're just being stubborn. So like her." He hums his chuckle, grinning at a memory. "You know we're not this good at braiding hair." He waggles one of the tassels at her crossed arms. "I, truthfully, know nothing of braids, and he learned out of necessity, braiding a girl named Lidi's hair. And just for a few years, mind you. I would hardly call that experienced."
Unable to contain her bubbling anger any longer, Settie reaches out and grabs a handful of the Watcher's hair, yanking his head back until the crown of his head rests on her bony knee-cap.
"I wish you were real, so I could slice these pretty locks off...permanently." Her eyes flare crimson (even in her possessed dreams) locked on his golden orbs.
The watcher moans, encouraging her to pull harder, deepen the stretch, as he arched his back towards the floor.
"Harder." He murmurs, eyes closed now - enjoying this. "Show me just how much denial you truly have. Waste it on me. You cannot change reality, my dear. No matter how much you rage against it. You're just wasting your energy." he chuckles, feeding off her wrath and frustration. Playing with her. Just as he had toyed with Morrigan - as she toyed with him. Equals, in those rare, lust filled moments of magic and ritual.
He missed that. Her. Morrigan. He had learned so much. Felt and… done things he would never do again. Perhaps it was a deluded sense of trust, but it lingered. Stayed.
Best to ignore it.
Settie instinctively let go of the Watcher's hair, but did not push him off of her. It had taken months of this tormented appearances in her dreams for Settie to realize that this space was mutually affected. She too could play games against him, manipulate the buffer space. And if there was any way to upset him, clearly Morrigan was the key.
Closing her eyes, she thought back to the visions of Morrigan she had been privy to, in past dreams. She channeled the Watcher's memories of the witch of the wilds, her scent, her voice, her attitude. He was right, Morrigan clearly had a spark of individuality to her, with a unique approach to her reality.
Her eyes now open, Settie found herself in one of the Watcher's memories. Morrigan had the Watcher's head in her lap, her sharp nails tracing the scars across his chest. This was their version of cuddling, Settie realized, as neither had been open to affection or vulnerability.
"There, there…" Morrigan's words flowed from Settie's mind, as easily as her own. The accent sounded reminiscent of an Imperial agent, with a purr that laced her words together.
"It won't matter what you do, Kieran will never be victim to your manipulation. He is my son." Morrigan stabbed a sharp nail into one of the unhealed scars that tickled the Watcher's ribcage. She opened the cut and laughed at the Watcher, an uncontrolled giggle that developed into a mocking chortle. Settie hoped that this was enough to upset the creature of her dreams, and would wake her up.
The Watcher hisses his breaths, familiar with 'her' cruel touch. Sensitive to it.
He relishes it.
With a snap of his wrists he snatches up her own, crushing her with his superior strength. Forcing her to drive her nails in deeper. Cut him.
He wanted this. Something close - something /real/ - yet this reflection of his Morrigan was not real enough. Settie was not angry enough.
"He is an experiment." The Watcher sneers, arching back to look Settie in the eye. "A means to my continued existence, as you well know, my dear." He twists himself around, grabbing hold of her elbows and pinning her against her plush little pink couch.
"Just as he was to /you/ until nature kicked in, feeding you hormones and chemicals till the child was your whole Maker-damned world.
"I still remember what 'you' had said to me, how 'your' child was nothing more than parasitic cell replicating itself in your womb - but I thought it /best/ you stayed behind. Alive.
"Honestly, what good would it do me if I killed the archdemon and our child died upon the battlefield because his mother was too stupid to take shelter? I forced her to listen. I kept 'Kieran' safe from your idiocy."
The Watcher grins, ear to bitter ear, a nasty thing that took far too much delight in her mistake.
"Though, it's nice to know I have a… son." He chuckles, low and dark. "I was half expecting to father a daughter! Your first born is female, no? Just like your Master?
"Kieran." he tastes the name, taking his time with the pronunciation. "I like this name. Sounds intelligent. Thank you, my witch. I never would have known without you."
He smirks. "My dear Morrigan is still quite cross with me."
"Damn your eyes!" spits out Settie, growling under her breath. "I knew that you had a dark motive for seeking me out. You manipulative, self-centered scumbag. I'll find a way to warn your witch, and she'll cut out your oily black heart!" Settie violently kicks against the Watcher, wishing she could wake from this nightmare.
"Oh, don't be so naive, Witch." The Watcher laughs, holding onto his bruised ribs. A bark, much unlike his typical chuckle. Wanting the pain - the anguish,the frustration. Feeding off it. "Warn 'my' witch? You mean yourself. The only reason why you know of my /son/ is because you share a facet of a soul with my Morrigan.
"Both of you are cut from the same cloth. A facet in a jewel. A single awareness begat from a greater, conscious whole.
"You're merely afraid to truly look at yourself in a mirror."
(To Be Continued...)