I hope I didn't make it too mysterious who the characters in this chapter are and you are able to guess who I'm talking about even without me writing the names. Okay, that was all I had to say. I hope you like what I've written so far.
Delilah - August 09, 2004
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- Chapter Three -
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She sits in darkness, wallows in pain and misery, and the only thing her bleeding heart deems worthy enough to be honoured with her thought is he. He who betrayed everything she believes in. He who destroyed her dreams of happiness and freedom. He who made her whole world burn to ashes with only one word uttered without thinking.
He. Man without honour. Smuggler. Servant of the Hutts. Scoundrel. Mercenary. Traitor.
He deserves the punishments painted in her mind, deserves all the cruelties her extensive imagination can come up with. He who broke her heart will pay. Pay in blood and soul. Pay in love and hate.
Old tales, long forgotten and now remembered, tell her that revenge is a dish best served cold. And cold it will be, patiently awaited and cultivated for a long time, her revenge will utterly destroy him. For the Hells of Sith and beyond are nothing but a drop on hot stones in comparison to a woman's fury when denied.
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He cannot sleep. The sweet kiss of oblivion, the oh so cherished void of nothingness that can only be achieved in the deepest slumber escapes him time and again. He tells himself that it is his new position in the hierarchy of Her Lady's command structure that makes him nervous, makes him pace his quarters like a caged feline predator. He tells himself that it is only a little bit of stress because he is still not used to being an Admiral.
He tells himself many things that - though he has to admit to their validity in keeping him from finding rest - are not the origin of his insomnia. For there is no other reason for his sleepless nights than the close proximity of his rooms to the Krayt's Lair, those dreaded halls which are rumoured to be the home of a deadly monster, a fear inspiring creature of fire and darkness.
Of course, the rumours are nothing but fairy tales, fantastical stories the crew creates to alleviate their fear of the highly eccentric man who lives next door. Nothing but stupid tales that would sell extraordinary in the holo halls, he tells his exhausted mind.
Why then isn't he sleeping peacefully and with a stupid smile on lips while dreaming of his beloved fiancé? Why?... Because she left you, he yells silently. Because she realized that a surgeon is much better husband material than an idealistic fool of a soldier. Because you are as good as dead now that Darth Vader knows your face, a tiny voice of reason whispers in his head. Or is it the voice of fear, simple panic that hinders him at thinking clearly?
He groans and stops pacing, stops moving altogether and slumps against the nearest wall to let his skull make the acquaintance with the conveniently placed hard object behind him, namely the aforementioned wall. Repeatedly bone makes contact with unforgiving metal. Pain clears his mind from everything not needed at the moment and brings a much desired moment of clarity. Not that he wants this result of his actions. No, he would prefer to knock himself out cold, at least he'd get some sleep if not rest. Or go beyond that and end it all.
But he never goes that far, never allows himself to act on his skittish instincts. Blood stains are enough of a pain to get out of the furniture, he really doesn't need to think about what brain matter and cracked bones would do to his carpet. Poison makes the job much cleaner. Or perhaps his Lordship would like to do the honours...
He is roused from his contemplating a preferable method of suicide by the sound of something heavy breaking. Or more like someone throwing furniture through the room. Maybe it was that annoying medidroid that always tries to get the two highest ranking men on board of Her Lady into the infirmary for an examination. Or maybe not. As amusing the thought of a thoroughly eviscerated droid would be, it wasn't what made the sound. So what was it, he thinks. What was it, if not the Master of Darkness next door venting his frustrations on a piece of medical equipment?
Against his better judgement he leaves his quarters to find his way to the door at the end of the hall, the second of only three doors on this deck. And the truly astonishing thing is, a sarcastic voice in his head says, you are insane enough to disturb his Darkness only to ask if he is okay. Pathetic. Truly pathetic. And very bad for your health. Don't you have an ounce of survival instinct?
The door opens before he can touch the call button. Strange, he thinks but goes in nonetheless. What awaits him is the sight of his Lordships sphere, breathing, medical, whatever chamber lying at the far away wall and not anchored at its normal place directly in front of the entrance. Definitely heavy furniture, my friend. Annoyed he tells his brain to shut up, straitens his shoulders and follows the path of destruction into the uncharted and dangerous regions of the Krayt's Lair.
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She is allowed to leave her cell because she pleases the Master's eye. That is what they tell her as she is clothed in the traditional garb of a Hutt's concubine. A shudder is repressed at the thought of one of those disgusting 'things' touching her the way she intended to allow the traitor to touch her.
Be patient. Just wait. Your time will come. Like a prayer she repeats these words over and over again. Those who dared to... to... They will pay. They will pay soon enough.