Location: Unknown Rooftop w/[member="Darth Metus"]
“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.”
“Certainly. Though, I will immolate you first.”
Her words were tossed with a tawny bit sass that seemed to indicate that Elyria, Selene, knew she was choosing to take things exceedingly literal. She did not enjoy reading through the lines or following context clues in dialogue. It was a very human thing to do and she was not yet so far gone.
“Your ashes will be easier to carry, provided, I choose a proper vessel.”
A vessel that she would acquire with his bartering tokens. Credits, he called them. The irony was not lost on her that she would carry his remains in an urn that she had purchased with his own monetary funds. Her head tilted so that she could offer a lazy smile in his direction that made sensuous lips all the more luxurious.
“Worry not. You’ll have an acceptable resting place, Vicelord.”
Pearly white teeth that were almost a little too sharp peeked from between crimson coloring and she released a laugh that rang long and slow. It would touch things within him that it wasn’t meant to, as if she had actually reached within his chest, to stroke that which couldn’t be seen, or named. How much of it was actually her laugh, and how much of it was the Force, would remain entirely unclear.
The slender female sipped at the wine she had been given. Every movement seemed to be achingly unhurried. As if she had all the time in the world. Perhaps, she did. Lengths of ink colored hair continued to move and flow of its own accord. The contrast between it and decidedly pale skin gave the illusion of midnight waves caressing an unblemished shore. Her smile faded abruptly when the Sith Lord admitted to his treasonous lack of subservience. Perhaps, he saw her as a resource. No doubt he knew the power that flowed in her veins. The fool had thought to taste of it. To hold it for himself.
Once.
Her strength had nearly killed him.
His words caused already black eyes to darken, if possible, and she watched him over the rim of her glass. What exactly was she intended to glean from this drivel about an oven clock?
“Did you just imply that you believe I belong in a kitchen? Like a lowly servant?”, her expression was rather smooth, however, her tone held all the warning in the universe. Then—He spoke of her son. As if he knew the life she had led, watching him grow, and suffer, but being bound to her crystal coffin. Elyria had only ever been able to see his face through the eyes of others. The flavor of his pain was sharp and acidic. She knew it well. That pain…It was buried.
“You do not trap that which you treasure in a jar. He is not an insect for study. He is mine to do with as I see fit.”
The Sith had overstepped.
The tendrils of silken hair that wrapped around his ankle, and higher, began to tighten in a way that Metus would find most uncomfortable.
“Do not talk to me of the Vault. You have nothing. Your kind have pulled this domain apart. Each of you has snatched a piece of it and even those with the mightiest hordes are paupers.”
It was almost as if they thought that whomever died with the most toys won the game.
Lengths of hair lashed about his thigh, wrapping higher, slashing across his chest until it wrapped around his neck. She didn’t take his air. Not,
yet.
“You are too foolhardy. Too headstrong, with your too short, too frail, blink of a lifespan. Concerned with the everyday squabbles of lower lifeforms. The only way to win is to never die. To conquer all.”
“That is winning.”
Slowly, she bound the former Mandalorian to the chair in which he sat. She did not understand the game that he wished to play.
“How can I be what I am not?”
He wanted her to be human? Ridiculous ape.
“I know you. The you that I know—Knows me. You tore me from linear progression, tore my timeline into shreds, and left me to stitch it back together out of sequence. You caged me. You are mine, and yet, you are not. You have been unmade and I sincerely blame that on the weakness of your species. I possess so much grace, more grace, than this backwater can hope to hold…Yet I remain hungry at your whim. I have not turned your kingdom to ash and stale wind.”
She paused before tilting the rest of the engraved glass back to drain the red fluid. A casual toss sent it sailing off the roof, hopefully, to decraniate some poor fool below. Black eyes hollowed him out while she leaned toward him. Her gaze was fierce, unbreakable, and petrifying while she tried to figure out his newest little game.
Child. Internally, she scoffed.
Suddenly—Her gaze narrowed. Ah, he wished to see
. “A time will come when you will be tempted to follow the path that all rulers do. It always begins the same. A blind eye toward the dealings of battles in which you have nothing to gain. A deaf ear to the counsel of those closest to you. As your strength increases, so does the separation between you and your fellow compatriots. You will see treachery and betrayal all around you. Even if there is none to be found.”
“You will fall to it. Or, you will rise above it.”
Her hands reached out and pressed to the side of his head.
Conquer,
all.
From that touch she would share glimpses of several visions. A world in which they dwelled, many, many centuries ahead of the current time that had cracked. A fleeting image of blending skin, crashing lips, and endless sighs, of peace, where no ignorant mortal dared to question that which existed above. A whisper of power. No war. No struggle. Only, control. The galaxy was at ease because all of the trivial had been cleansed with a purifying fire. When she pulled back he would feel like she’d cracked his head open and poured molten lava into his skull.
“Now, you know.” 
