Cradle to Grave
''
89, throat
I have never seen anything like it. The tattoos. The horns. The leer of promised pain.
I thought I knew what it was to be hated – by Bruck. By Xanatos.
I was wrong.
The Sith's hate is like nothing I have ever felt in my life.
When it is over, I rest against the pillar, and perversely, my throat aches with thirst. I am dried out. There is no water left within me to weep.
My Master's lifeless body are my spoils.
My enemy lies at the bottom of the abyss but I am not sure who is the victor.
''