This world is spinning around me
This world is spinning without me
Every day sends future to past
Every breath leaves one less to my last
It wasn’t a comfortable sleep, the sleep of a being who had no fight left in them, their mind and body so exhausted that it simply gave up and succumbed to the darkness that demanded to be recognized. The body was hurting, the mind a mirror of the body that housed it. Both feeling as if they’d been shredded and left for the carrion birds to pick over. Caer’s body didn’t even care that it could expire at any moment, so utterly spent by the torment it had endured.
Why hadn’t she expired yet?
It wasn’t a question the mind dwelled on. The question left unspoken in the wounded mind; it was not something that was important now, no. Quiet, blissful pain-free silence was what it welcomed. A few hours respite from the electrical and verbal barrage it and the body had endured.
In the exhausted slumber, she dreamed- or perhaps it was visions. Her friends Tomuraan and Neirov’s auras were somewhere out there, seeking her; and importantly her brothers aura the strongest, held up by the placid river blue of Tomuraans aura, which was boosted by the turbulent under current of Neirov’s more darker aura.
Raiyden was hurting. She knew it and it shattered her heart to know she was the cause of his suffering. It was her fault for his pain, his use of the spice- oh yes, she could ‘see’ that he was boosted by the spice that helped him. It made her stomach flip flop lazily the urge to throw up again (she’d thrown up once already) at the thought of her brother relying on spice to get him through this ordeal.
They spoke to her, told her to be strong; but she didn’t quite believe the voices. Didn’t quite believe what her minds eye saw. It could be another trick by her tormentor. She’d played so many on Caer in the three days she’d been there that she’d lost count. The woman was a master at mind games, mental torture more so than physical. Not that the woman was above physical pain either; she seemed to enjoy torturing Caer with the shock collar, adjusting the intensity randomly, or using her nails to dig into Caers skin.
Even unconscious Caer shuddered involuntarily, her legs jerking against the table as if trying to draw up and curl into a fetal position to protect herself. Caer had to consider herself lucky, she was tame by some Sith standards. Many Sith would have gotten far more brutal with their victims. She’d seen enough of her fellow Jedi tortured by such brutes. No, the woman was refined and civilized compared to some of her Sith compatriots.
Her mind switched to the previous vision she’d had, the one previous to her capture.
She should have listened to it, meditated upon it and acted before it’d happened. She wished she had now, but as her old Master used to say, if wishes were fishes Nautolans would never step foot on land every again. Caer never did understand that analogy.
The vision had told her of betrayal, it had been fleeting and full of portent, but visions were like that. They were only a possible future, not a definite one. Caer would have snorted if she’d been awake. This one had come true. She’d never been good at visions anyways, that was more her brothers thing and he was better at interpreting them than she ever was.
The faces had been of Kruven, his pureblood features looking smug and intelligent. Gloating. He had spoken words in a language she couldn’t understand. The face had melted into that of Niatara peering over Caers own face and smirking. Again words spoken she couldn’t understand but the expression on the womans face even Caer could see. The look of self satisfaction and then the face of possibly the one person Caer considered an enemy behind Nia’s.
Kyic. The Zabrak grinning like he’d just found his greatest prize sitting out for him, his hands resting on Nia’s shoulders, gripping tightly.
Caer’s fingers twitched involuntarily as if imagining her fingers around that Zabraks thick neck. All their auras had pulsated as one, like a living heart beat that was being deprived of oxygen and blood. A steady pulsing that soon stilled into a bloody darkness.
That vision had come to her days ago, the night before she had run into Kruven and Niatara in the Diner on Voss. It had set her on edge even then and it set her on edge now.
Had they all played a part in this? Had they all played some sort of game with her, lulling her into some sense of security and friendship and if not that civility on Kruvens part? All of these things had come to her in her vision and it left her feeling confused and scared.
Was Kruvens sister right? Had he set all this up for her? To be rid of her? It seemed so fantastical, so not right that she doubted it and her mind shrank away from that doubt. Doubting meant pain to her addled brain and she didn’t want anymore pain. So she went with what she’d been told.
Pull me under Pull me under
Pull me under I’m not afraid
All that I feel is honor and spite
All I can do is to set it right.
Her body slept. She had counted her injuries in her head, a possible broken wrist from her trying to jerk her arm free of the bindings. Potentially wrenched knee from her bodies reaction to being electrocuted. A definite bruised and wrenched back from the same treatment, scratches on her face from the womans claws digging into her cheeks to force her to focus. A bitten tongue, shredded lips and Brogan and Ashla knew what internal injuries from the currents of electricity.
Her mind was active, her brain conferring with her heart about it’s desires and she wanted revenge. She’d see someone pay for this, see someone pay for making her brother suffer; making her friends seek her out at great danger to them. Whether it would be Darth Tormentia or Kruven…or possibly those in her vision, that would remain to be seen. But they would pay for the suffering her brother endured.
Nobody messed with her brother.