Superweapon in Oven Mitts
The stars whispered in their own way, a hushed murmur that only came when a soul returned to their fold. A smile spread across the lips of the former Echani Matron as she sank into the soft embrace of her chair. The galaxy had twisted itself into a curious state, empires crumbled, and the bright-eyed children of the Force wandered lost. Spencer had not walked this era's path, but with her wife leaving traces of her presence across the stars, something stirred within her. A quiet summons, an undeniable call to act.
Rising from her seat, she drifted toward the kitchen, where the teapot let out its shrill, familiar whistle. Steam curled into the air as she poured the water over delicate blue floral leaves, watching the color deepen, shift. One, two, three cubes of sugar dropped in, dissolving as she passed a hand over the cup, coaxing the warmth to settle just as she liked.
Through the Force, she reached outward, a whisper across the cosmos, a touch only
Ashin Cardé Varanin
would recognize. A gentle pull, woven with longing and unspoken words. There were things they needed to discuss, matters that stretched between them like constellations unseen. But above all else, she longed to cherish her wife.
Rising from her seat, she drifted toward the kitchen, where the teapot let out its shrill, familiar whistle. Steam curled into the air as she poured the water over delicate blue floral leaves, watching the color deepen, shift. One, two, three cubes of sugar dropped in, dissolving as she passed a hand over the cup, coaxing the warmth to settle just as she liked.
Through the Force, she reached outward, a whisper across the cosmos, a touch only
