Sycorax knew she wasn’t dead. Not yet. If she had been she wouldn’t feel this way. If she were truly dead, she would’ve been deprived of her senses. Death was not an experience so much as an end to all experiences. So she must have been dreaming. That was the only explanation for this… nightmare.
She was sitting in a kind of cosmic waiting room. Countless other people sat beside and across from her, their numbers stretching on into the distance. Every species you can imagine was there, with nothing to do but sit and wait. Some of them were going to die. But not all. Sycorax kept expecting something to happen, a sign that would announce her destiny. But nothing changed. Her fate remained undecided.
There was no breeze in the room, the air unmoving. She felt uncomfortable, the unnatural stillness only serving to heighten her awareness of herself. She was still connected to her body, though it felt far away. There was pain, too, though that was mercifully distant, perhaps clouded by the haze of painkillers. Was that a good sign? Did it mean she was going to live?
I am not ready to die yet, she thought, again and again. Though the longer she spent here, the less will she had to keep fighting.
At some point the Rodian sitting across from her vanished. To her surprise, he was replaced by none other than Han Werdegast, her hated enemy. “Ha!” she exclaimed, half convinced that he was a hallucination. “Imagine seeing you here.”
He just stared at her, his expression owlish. He looked terrible, his face sickly and drawn. She imagined she didn’t look all that great either. They were both dying, after all.
There was a dried blood stain on the front of his suave suit, close to his heart. “What happened to you?” she asked.
“I was shot,” he replied, eyes narrowing and lips sneering with dark mirth. “Many, many times.”
Under better circumstances, she would’ve gloated. Instead she just felt… exhausted. “Who shot you?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see the gunmen. But I believe it was under Marya’s orders.” He sighed. “You shouldn’t have killed Luna. She kept her sister sane.”
“For the trillionth time,” Sycorax began, voice shrill with annoyance. “I did not kill your daughter. Not on purpose.” In a sting operation gone wrong, Luna had been one of many unintended casualties. Yet it was her death which had caused Sycorax so much grief and heartbreak, as Werdegast exacted calculating revenge for the girl's murder.
“What difference does it make?” Werdegast spat. “Everything that I am, everything that I have gained, it would have meant nothing. Without my children, I have no legacy. My life is worthless.”
And what is my life worth, after you killed the man I loved? What’s my legacy? “I didn’t mean to kill her, but I’d do it again,” she snarled. “In a heartbeat.”
Werdegast’s laugh matched hers in its cruelty and vitriol. “And I would kill your beloved Victor again and again, even though I meant to end you that night.”
None of their vicious banter made Sycorax feel any better about her present circumstances. But after a few moments, a strange thought occurred to her. “‘It would have meant nothing’,” she repeated what he had said. “‘Would have’? What's changed?”
“Since you are on your way out, I suppose I can tell you,” Werdegast said, smirking proudly. “I just found out that I have a long lost great-granddaughter. She will be my heir.”
Damn it all. “Are you so sure of that?” she asked. “Maybe I’ll get out of here first.” The news certainly renewed her desire to survive. She’d come back kicking and screaming if it meant putting an end to the bloody line his kind had cut across history.
He shook his head, somehow looking even more insufferably pleased with himself. “My legacy is secured. I made sure of it. The likes of you cannot interfere.”
She was sitting in a kind of cosmic waiting room. Countless other people sat beside and across from her, their numbers stretching on into the distance. Every species you can imagine was there, with nothing to do but sit and wait. Some of them were going to die. But not all. Sycorax kept expecting something to happen, a sign that would announce her destiny. But nothing changed. Her fate remained undecided.
There was no breeze in the room, the air unmoving. She felt uncomfortable, the unnatural stillness only serving to heighten her awareness of herself. She was still connected to her body, though it felt far away. There was pain, too, though that was mercifully distant, perhaps clouded by the haze of painkillers. Was that a good sign? Did it mean she was going to live?
I am not ready to die yet, she thought, again and again. Though the longer she spent here, the less will she had to keep fighting.
At some point the Rodian sitting across from her vanished. To her surprise, he was replaced by none other than Han Werdegast, her hated enemy. “Ha!” she exclaimed, half convinced that he was a hallucination. “Imagine seeing you here.”
He just stared at her, his expression owlish. He looked terrible, his face sickly and drawn. She imagined she didn’t look all that great either. They were both dying, after all.
There was a dried blood stain on the front of his suave suit, close to his heart. “What happened to you?” she asked.
“I was shot,” he replied, eyes narrowing and lips sneering with dark mirth. “Many, many times.”
Under better circumstances, she would’ve gloated. Instead she just felt… exhausted. “Who shot you?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see the gunmen. But I believe it was under Marya’s orders.” He sighed. “You shouldn’t have killed Luna. She kept her sister sane.”
“For the trillionth time,” Sycorax began, voice shrill with annoyance. “I did not kill your daughter. Not on purpose.” In a sting operation gone wrong, Luna had been one of many unintended casualties. Yet it was her death which had caused Sycorax so much grief and heartbreak, as Werdegast exacted calculating revenge for the girl's murder.
“What difference does it make?” Werdegast spat. “Everything that I am, everything that I have gained, it would have meant nothing. Without my children, I have no legacy. My life is worthless.”
And what is my life worth, after you killed the man I loved? What’s my legacy? “I didn’t mean to kill her, but I’d do it again,” she snarled. “In a heartbeat.”
Werdegast’s laugh matched hers in its cruelty and vitriol. “And I would kill your beloved Victor again and again, even though I meant to end you that night.”
None of their vicious banter made Sycorax feel any better about her present circumstances. But after a few moments, a strange thought occurred to her. “‘It would have meant nothing’,” she repeated what he had said. “‘Would have’? What's changed?”
“Since you are on your way out, I suppose I can tell you,” Werdegast said, smirking proudly. “I just found out that I have a long lost great-granddaughter. She will be my heir.”
Damn it all. “Are you so sure of that?” she asked. “Maybe I’ll get out of here first.” The news certainly renewed her desire to survive. She’d come back kicking and screaming if it meant putting an end to the bloody line his kind had cut across history.
He shook his head, somehow looking even more insufferably pleased with himself. “My legacy is secured. I made sure of it. The likes of you cannot interfere.”
