It is all that is left unsaid upon which tragedies are built - Kreia

Roused from her stupor, Trilla found Collot fussing over the bite mark in her calf. His tiny hands were hard at work, cleaning the raggedy tear. As he trimmed away a two strands of necrotic skin. Hearing her stir, he looked over and upon seeing her yellow fixed on him, Collot screamed. His fright evaporated quickly, though, as terror became celebration. He pumped his arms. "Utini!"

"That's enough," Trilla croaked, pulling her leg to the side. She coughed, finding her throat dry. "Go fly."

To her puzzlement, Collot objected. "Nyeta." He shook his head as he scooped up the unrolled bandages and utensils. He had to use the entire medical kit on a single limb.

"I'm in no mood for conversation," Trilla said, struggling to get herself into a sitting position. She picked up a scalpel, then dropped it into the kit. "This junk isn't going to help. Neither of us wants to see what will happen if I stop hurting." A full body shudder overtook her as a bead of sweat formed on her brow. "... Ow." She did a brief assessment, finding he had carefully applied bandages to whatever visible injuries he found. "Leave."

Once again, Collot refused. "Nyeta." He grumpily plopped down next to her, crossing his arms with a powerful defiance.

Trilla twitched. "What's your deal!?" She side-eyed him. Obviously unable to read a creature as complex as a Jawa. "Don't tell me you're concerned about me."

Collot snapped to her and nodded his head four times with a curt jerk. For good measure, he chittered slowly. At least slow for his species.

"I'm fine. This is pretty tame for the Grand Inquisitor," she said blankly, not sure how to handle the notion of someone being worried about her.

He squeaked, unconvinced. The language barrier was impossible to navigate. Not one to let a talking rug stop her, Trilla clambered to her feet and limped toward the ladder. Collot was quick to protest, backing up his unintelligible words with the power of his wench. Stepping between her and the doorway, he huffed.

"Move!" Trilla threw him aside with a cold gasp of the Force. She swooned, and the ever well-intentioned Collot clocked her in the back of the knee with his wrench.

She stumbled, catching herself on the wall. "You insolent little!" Trilla spun, nostrils flaring as she drove her boot into his gut. Collot shrieked, banging off the cargo hold door. He slid to the floor, but was soon on his feet again. He charged her, knocking Trilla to the ground as he pummeled her with a fuzzy barrage of punches. She lay there, tolerating his ineffectual assault with her usual sunny disposition.

Grabbing hold of his bandoleer, Trilla dragged him up. "I ought to jettison you," she snarled, shaking him back and forth. A click was heard; she found a SE-14 blaster pistol pressed against her abdomen. While she had questions how a Jawa liberated such an item, Collot's determined eyes made it clear he was in no mood. "Do it." She smirked.

"Mambay." He pulled the trigger without hesitation.

Trilla grimaced as the bolt scoured her already ravished intestinal tract. "What?!" She dropped him, touching the smoking hole. "You shot me!"

"Hkeek nkulla." Collot slid the pistol back into his robe. He stomped around her, doing his best to appear menacing.

"Snrk… Don't you see?" Trilla laughed, prodding herself dramatically. "I can't die. So your anxiety is pointless."

Her mania persisted until pained whines supplanted her cackling; she slid to the floor, clutching her sides, which threatened to split apart. Trilla loathed airing her vulnerability so openly and shut her eyes tight. Collot was a primal creature, and he treated her suffering the same way he cared for those of his kin. Approaching her slowly, like one might a feral animal, he made sure she had a good view of all his movements. Then he gently put a small hand on her shoulder. "Eyeta."

She looked at him. "Why?" Trilla scoffed. "You keep insisting we're friends, but what have I ever done for you?"

He blinked at her, providing no answer. Instead, Collot directed her attention to a tarp across from them. With an excited squeak, he threw it off, revealing the crumpled body of a KX enforcer droid. Its arms lay limp at in a circle around the cracked chassis upon which its head sat.

"Yours?"

Collot struck a triumphant pose, standing short with his hands on his hips. "Opakwa."

"Please tell you disabled that thing's telemetry," she said, changing positions to sit on the floor. Collot banged his wrench against the KX's head. "Well, I guess that explains why you were so late."

He made an apologetic gesture. Collot then pulled the head clean off and switched it on.

The Droid flickered to life. "Rebooting—Auxiliary power at fifteen percent."

"You can't be serious."

Collot held up a hand for quiet. He chittered at the head, clicking his wrench against the top of it.

"The little master says you are obnoxiously self-destructive." The KX Droid sighed; its voice a garbled wind.

Trilla removed her veil in disbelief. "Couldn't you have just stolen a protocol droid?"

"He wanted a challenge," the KX Droid explained, sparking from its neck. Collot patted his robe, then shook his leg. A holodisc plopped on the floor. "Little master has been developing a dictionary of his people's vocal patterns for usage in translations."

"Well, that's useful." Trilla scooted over, forgetting their feud. "So, droid, you going to give me a reason to assume you aren't still phoning home?"

The KX Droid heaved another sarcastic sigh. "My transmitter is contained within my chassis. It is right there. "

"Why do these models always develop such an attitude?" She asked, it not being the first time she was sassed by an enforcer. Granted, the last one that copped an attitude with her was found at the bottom of Nur's ocean.

"Firmware regressions." The Droid's head bobbed around as Collot chittered again, pointing at her. "The little master offers his sincerest apologies, but he tolerates no threats to his autonomy."

She shrugged. "No hard feelings. I was actually going to kill you. " Trilla cracked a crooked smile. "I commend your willingness to shoot me."

"To answer your original question..." Gears turned over in the Droid's head as it listened to Collot's erratic vocal patterns. "Clanless. A Jawa deemed unclean is exiled from their clan."

More clicking came as its processor kept up. "You are clanless, as is the little master, and he wanted to travel with someone who understood freedom from duty."

Trilla poked at the blaster hole with morbid curiosity as she wondered where her fluids ended up. "Clanless… Hmm." She relaxed her shoulders. "That's an apt enough descriptor, I suppose. But surely there are better 'free' people to travel with."

"No, little master says he likes the gross corpse woman because she is so vertically gifted it takes the attention off him."

"I'm not…" She glanced down, her cheeks growing hot. "I don't …" Trilla checked her armpits self-consciously. "I bathe!"

"Of course, and you faint, too."

"How'd you know that!?"

Collot ignored her, waddling back over to his travel back. He vanished below its mouth, rummaging around noisily. The Droid continued its begrudging translation. "He asks you to rest right now. If you promise to not push it, his Spice is yours."

"I just asked you to fly." She jerked a thumb at the cargo hold door. "Do I need to remind you we just raided an Imperial refinery and encountered not one but three inquisitors? We'll be lucky to come out of hyperspace unmolested."

"The little master believes it is inappropriate to leave an injured comrade alone."

"Well, now you know, I'm fine… rat," she replied childishly.

Collot emerged from the infinite abyss of his bag with his trusty pipe, offering it to her. "The little master sees that. He will respect your wishes in the future."

Trilla did not know how to react. She had expected more push back or at the very least a little more violence. Rubbing her arm, a sense of calm briefly quieted the gnawing of her bones. "Well, good."

She brought the pipe to her lips, as Collot slid down the ladder. Trilla settled into a drug assisted meditative state as she peered into the ever roiling abyss of her inner world. There eventually came a point where the pain was reduced to a background hum. Quiet descended as she entered the void.

The Second Sister faded into view from the shadows before her. "Well, it's about time you came for a visit." She paced left and right like an agitated beast. "Have fun, mutt? Ready to let me take over again?"

"She's back!" An excited voice proclaimed, and Trilla saw a Padawan in umber robes pop her head out from behind the Second Sister. The Padawan's aquamarine eyes sparkled with adoration.

Trilla looked around, puzzled. "Where am I?"

"A hall for the dead. The only place that ever truly matters," the Second Sister said; "You. Us."

The Padawan came over and tried to wrap Trilla in a loving hug, who shot a hand out, stopping the girl. "Don't touch me."

"But I missed you!" The Padawan protested, her lip quivering. "You left me in the dark for so long!"

"Cause you were weak." The Second Sister sneered; "A frightened little girl who broke in an Imperial torture chair."

An assessment that incensed Trilla who forwent her objection to being touched, and wrapped a protective arm around the Padawan. "And you are so strong? "Ready to give up and die the moment Lord Vader appeared. You're a coward too."

"It was over."

"Nothing is ever truly over," Trilla retorted.

"You know the consequences of failure. We were fortunate he just killed us." The Second Sister growled through her mask. "I spared us the futility of living."

"That's wrong!" Trilla stamped her foot. "You wanted to die because you had lost control!" She kept one hand on the Padawan's back, letting the girl hide behind her. "You, sister, pinned us below Cere's betrayal and your pathetic fantasies of revenge.

"Please, don't fight you two." The Padawan whispered. "I'm not mad at Second Sister. She gave us something to hold on to in the… dark."

"I was the one who felt every cut; I felt the air being pulled from our lungs!" The Second Sister jerked a thumb at herself. "I did what I had to do!" She stopped. "We were damn good at hunting too."

Trilla let the words settle and walked forward. "I know. We lasted so long because of you, sister." She reached the Second Sister, who remained defiant. "Then you got tired. The weight was too much; there was no reason to fight anymore. Cere found the chink in our armor…" Trilla reached up, placing her hands on the cold exterior of the Second Sister's mask. "Let me look upon you as we were."

The Second Sister did not move, as her mask was removed and Trilla saw her own face looking back. "I love you, so much. Our passions allowed us to press onward when there was no hope left."

Their foreheads pressed together. But the Second Sister scoffed, pushing away. "Bah!" She took a step back. "I want my lightsaber back. Cere's new doll stole it from us."

Trilla's mouth gaped. "I forgot!" She exclaimed, putting a hand on her cheek. "That bastard kept it!"

"The Padawan touched the one hanging off Trilla's belt. "This one is nice, though. It's not as heavy." A mischievous smile came to her face. "But I wouldn't be against seeing that cute boy again. He's so light and worry free." She blushed. "And smells like lavender!"

"Eh!?" The Second Sister and Trilla exchanged mortified looks.

"Absolutely not." Trilla thumped her smaller self's ear. "Romance is not something we have the time for." She huffed. "Besides, Cal, really? I'd rather go back to eating cannoks."

"Ouch!" The Padawan massaged her ear. "Well, I think Merrin is cute too!" She stuck out her tongue. "Her hands were so soft!"

"No." The Second Sister thumped her again. "These kinds of thoughts are why we don't let you make decisions anymore."

The Padawan crossed her arms. "Well, it doesn't matter what either of you think. Cal's here right now."

Trilla tensed and opened her eyes. Sure enough, like a loyal guard dog, Cal was sitting across from her, his orange tail wagging excitedly as she returned.

"You stole my lightsaber," she said bluntly. "Give it back."

"We got away. Thanks for asking." Cal was leaned up against his cot, with his leg elevated by a crude. He had a cup of hot tea in his hands. He took an obnoxious sip.

"Oh, Cal, I'm so relieved to hear that." Trilla scoffed sarcastically. "My lightsaber, where is it?"

He hesitated. "Cere kept it."

Trilla exhaled sharply, finding yet another knife in her back. "Do these humiliations never end? My life is a museum for you two vultures to pilfer as you see fit."

"Well, now that you mention it…" Cal scratched his nose. "Mind filling me in on the Pau'an? He doesn't fight like you or the Ninth Sister."

"Of course he doesn't. He's in it for pleasure, not business." Trilla took a pull of her pipe, relishing in the lightness it granted her. "I don't know what primordial pit the Emperor dragged him out of, but the Grand Inquisitor is an inspiration."

Cal questioned her usage of the word inspiration, but had a more pressing concern on his mind. "He claimed to have known Master Tapal. I want to know if that is possible."

"Could be. I didn't really seek out his company," Trilla said, a chilling smog relaxing her inflamed lungs. "Or he could have been lying." She raised a hand. "Before you ask. No, I don't know his name. No one does."

"Have you tried asking it?"

"Have you seen him? This is the same Pau'an I watched eat a human heart on more than one occasion."

"Bleak bunch, you inquisitors are."

"Don't forget humorless. Never try to open with a joke to Lord Vader. It ends… poorly.

Cal placed a crooked finger below his chin. "Here, I thought my charming wit would make me an excellent inquisitor."

"I'd have given you a week before you dragged a piece of glass across your wrists." Trilla kept her glazed eyes looking up at the ceiling. "Lost quite a few potential recruits that way.

Cal wanted to offer her his tea. She looked like a warm drink would help. "There is another thing." He tapped his cup. "The Grand Inquisitor said he was the one who, well, you know."

"No, what did he say?" She played dumb.

"Tortured you."

"Ah, well, shouldn't you know that? Doesn't that fancy psychometry let you invade the memories of others?"

"I didn't see him, and believe me, I'd have remembered his ghoulish mug."

To this, Trilla frowned. "That's strange… Unless." She thought back to her efforts to gather information on the Grand Inquisitor. "The Second Sister's triumvirate had a few theories as to his abilities. One was that he mutilates his connection to the Force to become invisible temporarily… An extreme possibility, but might explain why only I remember him."

Cal raised a finger, then slowly curled it back. "First of, how does one sever their connection at will?" The notion someone would weaponise one of the most traumatizing experiences of his life, formed a fist at the top of his stomach.

Maybe if you had not gotten me killed, I'd have found out," she interrupted with an annoyed grunt.

"Putting a pin in that… He's trying to kill you now."

Trilla snorted. "He lives for the hunt. Like I said, it's for pleasure in his case. " She reached up, running a finger thoughtfully along the curved bridge of her nose. "Besides, it's Inquisitorius business. I'd be offended if he wasn't."

Cal puffed his cheeks, exhaling slowly. He found her to be an enigma, wrapped in a riddle. Totally incomprehensible and in conflict with everything he held sacred. "Well, I hate to say it, but I'm starting to see why you are such a mess."

"Come on, Cal. You can call me a bitch."

"I prefer not to swear," he replied like a choirboy. "Its inappropriate."

"I despise you, you know that, right?"

"Too bad you're stuck with me."

Trilla scowled. "For now." She looked away, a sudden melancholy descending upon her. She put the pipe down, placing both hands around her head. "To think… thanks to Cere, you'll know more about my past than I can ever hope to recover." She dug her nails into her scalp, lashing out in despair. "Cannibals!"

Cal was struck by a wash of negative emotions. Enough, he found himself overrun by a profound grief. Her grief. Shakily, he said, "Trill. Its not like that."

"But it is what you are doing." She glared at him. "You prod and prod, treating my brain like a holoprojector you can play back at anytime." Softly, Trilla mumbled, "At least the Grand Inquisitor cares enough to kill me outright… Cere clearly had no qualms replacing me. "

"I thought you were indifferent to Cere's existence?" Cal asked, knowing it was a stupid question the moment it left his mouth. He sensed his companion's inner turmoil, like the pressure magma preparing to breach the surface.

"Yeah, so I lied. Dark side, remember?" She remained despondent. "I dragged myself out of that grave, and what does Cere have to say? Nothing, at all."

He reached for her, but stopped, remembering they were not physically in the same place. Cal retracted his hand, and finding himself as cold as she was, reached for the poncho on his cot. Using it like a blanket, he said, "She wasn't ready. Cere had all but made peace with your death."

"Tell her I am sorry for screwing up dying too." She snapped at him.

Cal paused. He recognized her hurt came from a place of rejection, but was worldly enough to know her anger was misplaced. "Trilla."

"What?" Her eyes flitted to him.

"I'm not going to tell you, you don't have a right to be angry. Hell, I'd have been angry." Cal took a deep breath, touching his wounded knee. "But do you truly blame her for saving herself? What good would have come of you both falling?"

"No, I blame her for playing victim about the dark side. It's not some poison, as she believes…" Trilla kicked the ground. "It's a tool like any other, and I'm not tainted for using what was at my disposal."

Cal paused, then asked carefully. "Would you teach me?"

This question surprised Trilla, whose eyebrows raised in unison. "I'm sorry?"

"You don't consider it a poison because you've lived with it for so long. If I'm gonna face more inquisitors, I need to develop a tolerance for its presence."

"Cere would disown you as she did me." "It's not about her. It's about me. I have to survive its influence." Cal made a face, holding a hand out. "Maybe if we train together, I can help you see the value in the light again."

"Get my lightsaber, then I'll think about it."

"I promise you'll have it back." Cal smiled gently. "I've wanted to cross sabers again since Nur. Merrin was right. I miss the passion."

Trilla muttered to herself. He thought he heard something about a doughy-headed idiot. She grunted. "Pay attention, because I'm only recounting this once."

"What?"

Trilla's head vanished into the folds of her cloak. "You have no idea what it was like to be strapped to that chair."

"I don't need to know. If you prefer, I didn't."

"No, this is different. You want to know the dark, you have to know the choice I faced."

"I'm all ears." He shifted, getting comfortable for a long story.

She reemerged from her cocoon, glancing around uneasily. "How much do you know about midi-chlorians?

Off the top of his head, Cal recalled a handful of times. Master Tapal had imparted tidbits of wisdom about the life forms. "They are the translators for the Force and determine an individual's capacity to use the Force effectively."

"Right, it's why we all had to take a blood test upon joining the Order… So, who do you think controls all that blood now?" She smudged her eyeliner with her wrist.

"The Empire."

"The Grand Inquisitor," she corrected gloomily. "He has a fascination with midi-chlorians."

Cal got the distinct feeling he did not want to know where she was going. "Is it safe to assume he wanted your blood?"

"Bingo. During our third session, he had a droid bring in a machine with several tubes running into an empty container." Trilla tapped her finger on the floor. "Drip… Drip… Drip. Hours felt like years as my heart rate quickened, my breathing fluttered, and I thought my head was going to split open. He made me watch myself die, and in doing so, I found I'd have done anything to live."

"When you frame it like that, it doesn't sound like much of a choice."

"Gee, you think?" Trilla never ceased to be amazed by his lack of perspective. "Your psychometry gives you an incomplete picture. You remain totally ignorant of what it was like to be in the moment, only ever acting as a voyeur." She studied him closely. "But that is the dark side. It is the desperate second your rational brain surrenders and primal instinct takes over. When you find your true self in the abyssal, nothing below the surface of consciousness."

Cal carefully dissected her words, reflecting on their content. It was evident they came from a place of indescribable suffering. Two similar but different experiences had led to two different outcomes. The Force's conception of balance threw her into the oblivion of an impossible choice, while he escaped unscathed. "This is what the Grand Inquisitor taught you?"

"That's right, he's the greatest master I've ever had. As merciless as nature herself."

Cal did a double-take in disbelief. "How can you believe that?"

"Because he was there, Cal. After Cere fled, the Grand Inquisitor saved me." Trilla gritted her teeth, hardening her resolve. "That is why I am going to kill him. I owe him a warrior's death for not abandoning me."

"Let me help. A guy like that needs to go down."

"No, this fight is mine alone.' Trilla said; "I must get stronger. There is no reason to worry your doughy brain about me."

To be fair, this doughy brain might be on the line if you die." He gestured to himself, then to her. "Cause of this, right? We don't know the nature of the bond." Cal took a long sip of tea, finding it had already cooled. "For the record, it's like being chained to an anchor."

"Hey, it's no picnic for me either. Every time you come around, I feel like I'm about to be ripped apart." She leaned against the seat behind her. "Just get my lightsaber back. Then you can meet me alone somewhere."

Trilla slammed a metaphorical wall down between them, ending their conversation and sparing her further inane discussion. Feeling lighter, she got up, joining Collot in the cockpit who did not object to seeing her. The two played a game of Pazaak for the last leg of their jump, swapping stories of simpler times. To be clanless was to find comrades in strange places.

Vader closed his fist." I grow weary of your ever dishonest philosophizing." He raised the Grand Inquisitor into the air, crushing down on the Pau'an's windpipe. "Perhaps you've allowed yourself to grow too attached to your pupil."

Dangling there, the Grand Inquisitor did not struggle. Hanging limp with his toes scraped the polished floor of his quarters. He stared at the emptiness of his tormentor's mask, knowing to show fear was the invite death. "More… weight," he said, grinning through his darkening vision.

There were many unfortunate truths about the Grand Inquisitor's existence. Most of all, for Vader was that the Pau'an shouldered the bureaucratic load of his entire organization, regularly submitting reports and conducting operations far into the outer-rim with the spirit of ten men.

Ever singular in his focus on Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, he released the Grand Inquisitor with a cutting movement. "Your duty is not yet done," Vader rasped; "Continue your course and do not fail me again."

"Failure is the most satisfying part of the hunt, my lord," The Grand Inquisitor said, bowing his head. The hologram went dead. "But I don't expect a golem wire and machinery to appreciate the thrills of predation."

He stood, massaging his neck, finding it sore enough to justify a brief break. "Droid." "Sir," his protocol droid walked up to him.

"Prepare my bath. Work meetings are always so droll."

Some time later, the Seventh Sister found his private quarters empty. Having been instructed to meet him there, she let herself in, and was confronted by his preference for spartan living. A simple mat was tucked in the corner, lacking even a pillow. Along the wall was a series of lockers which upon opening, she was greeted by rows and rows of lightsabers. She counted fourteen whole hilts and three that were broken in half. A crude octagon circled the scarred cybernetic face of a Kaleesh. There was a haunting familiarity in its hollow caverns. The spectre of a war of extermination.

"General Grievous was the greatest Jedi hunter this galaxy has ever seen," The Grand Inquisitor interrupted, sliding the door to his personal bathroom aside. "I am honored to know he fell upon Utapaun soil."

"I thought I recognized the face," the Seventh Sister said; "He was a separatist general and a traitor."

"No. He was a test. One the Republic and its Jedi Order failed." The Grand Inquisitor shuffled by her, his slippers softly padding on the floor. "My feats pale in comparison to his legend, and I'll forever live with the regret of not having the honor of being his prey in battle."

"Grand Inquisitor. Don't take this the wrong way, but do you have any hobbies?"

"Hmm, I recall our Second Sister asking me a similar question once." He removed the towel from his head, putting his ear protection back on. "I have my research."

His lack of elaboration caused her to shiver. "I take it the meeting with Lord Vader did not go well."

"Do they ever? I much prefer dealing with flesh…" The Grand Inquisitor reached up onto a shelf above his cot, removing a nondescript box. "Can I offer you a drink?"

"What's the celebration?"

"Your restraint."

"Wary of poisoning, the Seventh Sister shook her head. "I'll pass." She watched him pour a glass of a clear liquid. "We should discuss Onderon and our plan."

"Indeed, we should." The Grand Inquisitor reached for a vial in the box, tapping three drops of red into his drink. "Please enlighten me about the planet's current situation. It has been some time since I visited the Inner Rim… Far too noisy."

"Then the short of it is, recent terrorist actions have resulted in the Onderon system being placed under martial law with all courts answering to the ISB. If we involve ourselves, it will no doubt lead to friction."

"Will this maze of republican bureaucracy ever become centralized?" The Grand Inquisitor took a sip, letting the blood wash over his tongue.

"You didn't happen to hear what city our sister is interested in, while rooting around in her mind, did you?" The Seventh Sister walked to his side, looking out the window.

He tapped the glass with his pinkie. "It matters not. We will have to cast a wide net, but what she seeks is a new master. One unafraid to sink below the black water."

"If we play our cards right, we might kill two birds with one stone. I say we invoke our authority and seize control of ongoing security efforts on Onderon. That'll allow us to take advantage of the ISB's surveillance apparatus."

"Are you not curious?"

"Curious about what?"

"The prospect of… greater power it is tantalizing, is it not?" He stared into his drink. "Surely you've flirted with following her treasonous path."

"Have you?" She asked, wary of his intention with the line of questioning.

"No. The dark side…" He raised his glass. "Is best enjoyed in moderation. Otherwise, one might find they've lost all their passions. Then life becomes a dull routine, a performance you no longer wish to put on." The Grand Inquisitor chuckled, thinking about his unorthodox path to power. "As for Onderon. There is wisdom ins your suggestion, sister, but I concur, the ISB will resist."

"I'll persuade them of their error."

"Oh, I so love a proper factional struggle." He finished the rest of the blood in a single gulp. "I myself feel the need to cleanse the palate after Umbara."

"What do you intend to do?"

"Rebels are a curious bunch. No two groups behave the same when evolutionary pressure is applied. We have a responsibility to offer absolution before they unite in doctrine and tactics... Before this becomes a real war again."

The Seventh Sister hesitated. "There is something else, Grand Inquisitor."

"Hmm?" He looked at her curiously.

"The Second Sister has achieved something unheard of. I must assume it is a result of your special training…" The Seventh Sister steadied her breathing. "I wish for you to teach me."

"No." His response was flat, and he finished his drink.

Frustrated the Seventh Sister shook her fist. "Why not! Is she truly so much stronger than me!?"

"It was never a matter of strength, but rather will. Our Second Sister burns so brightly." The Grand Inquisitor's eyes returned to the void of space. "Besides, I'm far too old for another muse; the darkness calls to me and I do not wish to keep her waiting any longer. "