Prologue
At some point, every slave in Lord Myon's household knew the seizing pain of Force Lightning, the way it sank into your skin, setting your very bones afire, charring fur and flesh, tearing muscles as it twisted your body into unnatural shapes until you begged to die. The luckiest only endured a second or two at the whim of their capricious master for the crime of merely existing. Others escaped the torture with scars or permanent damage. Many never got up.
But being on the receiving end of Force Lightning was very different than actually dispensing the punishment. There was a fierce, blinding heat that streamed from inside my heart, thundering through my veins until it erupted as purple energy from the tips of my claws, which had instinctively extended. The world was sharper, brighter, clearer, and it seemed like time had slowed around me; but I didn't care about that, or even about the panicking slaves around me, captivated as I was by my revenge. Power whispered darkly in my ears, and my hatred rose until I could taste it in my mouth and a red haze ate at the edges of my vision.
The miserable, disgusting wretch had ceased his wriggling, but I held my first manifestation of lightning until he was blackened and long dead. As satisfaction overcame my rage, my strength began to fail and I realized how exhausted I felt. I sank to my knees beside the corpse of my enemy and glanced up to see that the once-crowded slaves' hall was empty, save for two men: my master and his Sith apprentice. Terror and resignation warred within me, for I knew that I could do nothing to defend myself against a Lord of the Sith, especially when I was too weak to stand. He raised a hand; I tried to prepare for the same death that I'd just dispensed. My slave collar clattered to the floor as his Force grip crushed the lock and tore it away.
"Put her on the next shuttle to the academy," he ordered his apprentice. "Let's see what they can do with her."