The cell was tiny, cramped, and deliberate. Its builders had obviously intended it to be a holding cell, constructed in the years after the Second Uprising when noble necks were severed with little compunction. It was a cell calculated to inspire hopelessness and fear, crafted to invoke madness: the ultimate form of dominance. The architects achieved a triumph in psychological warfare using simple but effective torture: the windows which were little more than airholes, the 'bed' which wouldn't allow a tiny child comfort at night, and the lack of facilities save a noisome hole in the middle of the floor.

Witness, however, the door: huge and black, its presence suffocated hope. The eldritch nature of it burned the eye with an utter lack of light, decrying any natural origin of color or design. No, this portal of doom was gloom incarnate, constructed of a material made to absorb light but never give it. In the Empire, prisoners were never executed at dawn: they were put into these death cells to watch the last ray of hope perish upon that slab of implacable hatred. In the past, some screamed in agony as the door sucked the last daylight out of the stifling air. Others ignored the door completely, dwelling on personal nightmares until it creaked open ominously, granting entrance to the tall executioners robed in scarlet. In the end, they all made acquaintance with the door as they found themselves strapped lengthwise upon it to cough out their life's blood.

Death permeated the cell, enveloping its prisoners in the pitiless grip of defeat.

Currently, however, the occupant neither wept nor brooded. She did not know the amount of time she had spent in this hellhole, punished for the crime of her parents. She had long since ceased cataloging the tortures her captives performed upon her, driving her beyond the comprehension of pain into a reality where the senses, emotions, and actions melded together into a diamond of hurt that burned constantly throughout all awareness. Plots of vengeance seethed deep inside of her, but any actions were held at bay by the cruel collar around her neck. The seamless piece of metal denied her control of her body and thoughts, so that not even the final peace of death could slake the fiery onslaught.

Instead, she sat, a motionless form filling the bed, legs clenched close to her torso. Arms hung limply at her sides, rigidly relaxed into immobility. The coarse, insufficient clothing lay over a body reeking of filth and spilt blood, both old and new. Hair matted with dirt and neglect surrounded the lowered head, hiding details of expression in darkest shadow. No muscle moved, no limb twitched, as she occupied the bed hour after hour. Ragged breathing was the only sound, became the only reality, a wretched gasp of noise that denoted life at irregular intervals, as the collar bade her.

Yet still she fought the collar, as she had every day since her enslavement as a child. Her eyes remembered a bright light, far brighter than the sunbeams that hesitantly assaulted the darkness around her. Her ears recalled words spoken with love, not with the fear and contempt that defiled her spirit each day. Her hands, which now ached from enforced tension, strove to caress the distant memory of gowns of green silk. She knew, in some almost forgotten pocket of self that she had once been happy…

The collar tightened its grip, driving her memories away, hiding them with the grim reality of the present. As the scant sunlight disappeared into the abyss of the door, she finally gave up her struggles and descended into the dubious respite of restless slumber, and even more restless dreams.

She drifted in darkness, cold and limp. She knew this place, for it was all that had sustained her throughout her years of torment. Yet now, something moved within this nothingness, a force that was something new, something unexpected.

she opened her eyes to find not darkness but

brilliant light, lancing around her body in joyful motions that brought peace and serenity. Bemused, she watched them flow past, feeling something within her stir and reach

this was a dream, just a dream!

and grasp the light, bending it back to fill the emptiness within her. Not knowing what she wrought, not caring for the consequences, she extended again to take more of the ebullience into herself

a dream, she could still feel the cold stone beneath her motionless body…

when suddenly she felt a hand upon her shoulder. Startled, she turned around

the collar tightened its grip, shuddering in its attempt to contain infinity…

and encountered the kind gaze of a Romulan she had never met. And she remembered him, for his life had once been hers

the metal circle groaned as it strove and failed to resist the unexpected pressure…

and his laughter joined hers, filling the universe with power and light and

the collar disintegrated.

she felt something awake within her.

"Who are you?" she demanded of the Romulan.

"I am Merak."

"You are…" she paused, unsure of how to express the fierce exultation that suddenly coursed through her.

"I am of you, as you are of me."

She trembled, feeling her own metamorphosis. "What has happened?"

He smiled then, and a light emerged from the smile to find the light within her and merge with it. Suddenly, they embraced each other, tears raining grace upon their past grief, laughter healing the eternal pain of separation. They held each other, content to be with one another again, not caring for the moment about the how or why of it, forgetting that they had ever been apart.

Abruptly a brief flash of darkness appeared, forcing them away from each other.

"What?" she spluttered.

"They're searching for us!" the man cried, agony in his voice. His gaze sharpened as he turned to her. "I must leave."

She started to object, to beg denial. He softened immediately and kissed her brow. "Adara, my heart, I will not be able to return to you here. Yet the door is now open." He brushed his hand on her cheek and cupped her chin in his palm. "Remember this being," and suddenly an awareness entered her memory, with a face – a woman, skin and hair the color of fecund soil, joy filling her dark eyes, "and go to her."

"Go to her? But my captors—"

"The door is open," he repeated intensely. "But you must beware – others hunt us now."

Her confusion deepened. "Others?"

Merak released her and backed away reluctantly. "I must leave. I am not prepared to…" He trailed off, mouth working silently. "Remember to claim sabvasa!" he cried as he turned.

"Wait!" she screamed, but felt his presence disappear.

The darkness suddenly returned, and with a cry of pain

she awoke.

A harsh glare of red light blinded her momentarily. Romulan hands, severe with anger, gripped her arms and propelled her from her stony roost and through the dread door into the corridor beyond. Indifferent to their passage through the halls, she abruptly realized that for the first time in years, she could actually feel hatred towards her captors. The realization swept through her awareness like a drug, intoxicating her with a delirious joy.

The dizzying journey abruptly came to an end as her silent companions strapped her into a familiar implement, the Chair of Pain. The four Romulans left her there and clustered together in frenzied conversation on the other side of the room. Small snatches of the words and fragments of thoughts carried to her, though she comprehended none of it.

"…if they find out…"

"They won't, not if we rid ourselves of her now…"

She found herself scrutinizing the Chair anew, wondering at the sudden increased acuity of her consciousness. Gazing at the dark straps that immobilized her arms and legs, she almost imagined that she could perceive the molecules within, every atom, every quark.

"But her abilities! We were about to discover more, I am sure of it…"

"…find out. The order of the Senate…"

The air in the room felt magnificent, a spring field of flowers compared to the dead fetidity of her cell. She deciphered each mote of dust and scent, including the sweat of fear and the rank saltiness of old blood and other bodily emissions.

"Bah! The Senate! Her mother's death…"

"…at the time, seemed appropriate…"

Her skin felt alive, electrified. The sterile plastic and metal that pushed up against her and prevented movement appeared absolutely smooth, yet she located thousands of tiny imperfections, small cracks that went unnoticed by her captors and herself, before. What had changed to awaken her so?

"…strange activity in her cell…"

"Enough! We are decided."

She recalled the emotions that had plagued her before: fear, despair, trepidation. Now she found another passion demanding attention, superseding all others: hatred – hatred of her captives, of the implement that clutched horribly at her body, and of the universe for allowing such evils to proliferate. She wondered what had changed to allow such strong sentiments to exist that before had been only the remotest of memories. As the group finished discussion and turned to face her with grim expressions on their faces, she suddenly comprehended what, precisely, had altered.

Her neck was wonderfully, gloriously, naked.

The foremost Romulan approached her. Her newly released mind noticed his robe of executioner scarlet. Had that been the one to talk about 'getting rid of her?' Holding tight to apparent inactivity, she tested her enemy's resolve with her gaze.

Finally he demanded, "How did you destroy the stasis collar?" She didn't answer, merely continued to stare at him. His face darkened, accenting the ragged scar that ran across his forehead down to a mechanical eye, as he interpreted her silence, correctly, for rebellion. "Answer me, or we shall practice such arts upon your body as will leave those pains you experienced before to be the caress of a lover in comparison."

She searched within herself again, surprised at the lack of fear. The Romulan's words washed over her, leaving no sticky residue of guilt in its wake, and her newfound hatred and righteous anger burned away the filth and grime that had accumulated on her mind and spirit during her captivity. Suddenly she recalled the stranger – no stranger, but dearer than her own heart – in her dream, and his words came to her, as clear and distant as after a storm on the plains: The door is open.

She smiled then, causing the Romulan before her to flinch warily. Abruptly realizing that she no longer needed to remain, she closed her eyes and remembered happiness.

And returned to it.