Evil Love

The Inquisitor stood erect before a vast viewing window on a Star Destroyer. He had been silently reluctant to come aboard the vessel, after his near destruction on the last one he had walked into. But the malevolent Pau'an had quickly crushed his fear. He knew it was ridiculous, and besides - he had learned from that battle with Kanan Jarrus and the Bridger boy. He would not - could not - fail again, not when his reputation, pride, and reliability had already been shattered.

The Inquisitor's golden eyes reflected the countless stars glittering out in the endless inkspill expanse of space. His gaze moved slightly after a moment, watching the reflection of a tall, black-robed figure who was approaching silently behind him. This was the woman to whom he owed his life - the woman who had flown a TIE Fighter in the sinking, flaming wreckage of a Star Destroyer, collected his half-dead, burned, and unconscious body, and flown back out again.

Darth Zenith.

She continued to come nearer until finally stopping beside him. Her hood was up, her long, ebony garment completely concealing her features. The Inquisitor had seen them only once before, while she had been rescuing him. Her cloak had been completely removed. The Inquisitor had considered many times over why, and had deduced that the flames would have had a greater chance of destroying her had she continued to wear it. Darth Vader's shamed apprentice recalled Darth Zenith's face without that hood: unusual skin as black as the everlasting night outside the Imperial Star Destroyer, nearly white gray eyes with round, bluish eyes ringed thinly with ebony; stark white bangs; ever so slightly pointed ears, and high cheekbones. She was beautiful, the Inquisitor thought. He couldn't understand why, the few fleeting times he had glimpsed her since his recent release from the hospice, she had been wearing a cloak.

Darth Zenith finally spoke. Her voice was quiet, clear, and lovely. "It's nice to see you out of the hospice, Inquisitor."

"It is nice to be out," he replied, still staring at the glass. What was this feeling that was suddenly sweeping over him? He felt almost unbearably uncomfortable... he needed to say something that would let him walk away in a hurry, but still let him keep the scrap of dignity he had left... and yet... he didn't really want to go, either. What is the matter with me?

The Pau'an could feel her surveying him from the shadowed depths of her hood. "Is something wrong?"

The Inquisitor for some reason could not think of a reply to that simple inquiry. Instead, he found himself blurting out: "Why do you wear that cloak when you are beautiful?"

Abruptly, the Inquisitor felt like he was back inside that burning Star Destroyer, much too close to its gradually exploding power core. What did I say that for?! He hurriedly looked down at the floor.

Darth Zenith was staring at him even more intensely now; he could feel it. "W... wh... what?" she stammered out. "What did you say?"

"I... nothing." The Inquisitor cleared his throat awkwardly. "Pardon me, I will just be-" He turned to make a hasty leave. So much for dignity.

But Darth Zenith stopped him by seizing his chin. The Pau'an froze, her black talons pricking sharply at his skin as she roughly turned his head to look at her. The Inquisitor couldn't have denied his own fear right then.

"What did you say?" the Sith Lord repeated, her voice rising a little and attaining a very faint hiss. The Inquisitor was instantly reminded that she stood much higher on the Imperial food chain than he did.

"I... I said..." The Inquisitor grimaced, realizing he had no choice but to tell the truth now. He knew very well that she had heard him clearly the first time. "'Why do you wear that cloak when you are beautiful?'"

For a long, terrifying, and highly uncomfortable moment, Darth Zenith continued to hold him there. He hadn't ceased to feel her stare for even a second.

Then, to his absolute shock, she slowly reached up with her free hand, pulled her hood back - and then kissed him.

~The End~