She shifted in her seat, perhaps uncomfortably, perhaps not; there was anxiety there, concern that she was saying too much, but there was relief too over what she was hearing as she let the words pour out. Usually confident, composed, everything seemed to tumble out of her control and that uncertainty made it difficult for her to resolve feelings that she'd managed to handle on her own - feelings amplified, mountainous, with Sylvia at her side. Something brushed against her fingertips, startling her, but when she let her gaze fall down to where she'd remembered holding it she found it reaching for Sylvia's on its own accord. A shallow part in her lips preceded a quickening of breath, a tightness in the bridge of her nose and a chill at the center of her collar, and just as she'd started to let the moment overtake her - the flood of emotions from the two experiencing a sense of longing for the other, building upon the other in her heart involuntarily, perhaps a consequence of being an empath - before she could muster the courage to do something that she wanted so very much to do, a threat uttered in the past, like an echo, shattered her reverie and whispered in her ears.
"She will fail you."
"Sylvia Virtos will fail you, Elle Mors. It is written."
Elle's hand moved for Sylvia's, but not for the reasons it had initially. "He knew." She said quietly, her pale face growing ghostly white, voice shaken. "I don't understand how... but he knew." Her eyes had been locked onto the sight of her hand up until now, but an unspoken question that screamed in the depths of her mind urged her to look up, to show the panic on her face that she'd bottled up in a fight that she, by all rights, hadn't stood a chance. Fear, it seemed, wasn't something she could shake, even when possessed by something much greater than herself. "I.. after you left.. over Csilla, on that station, that machine of death," She sputtered, trying to explain, to put her strange behavior into context. "I met him, Darth Carnifex ." Elle said simply, as if that fact alone was all that was necessary to make things clear.
"We fought."
She looked away at that, the flash of green on red still burned into her retinas, the memory of his torrential darkness washing over her still fresh in her mind - the effectiveness of the light that had illuminated her no longer surrounding her now as it had then. She swallowed, realizing how close she'd been to never making it to this moment - how overconfident she'd been when the force had pulled her towards oneness, how invincible she'd felt - and how differently it all could have gone if she had met the Sith Lord under far less extraordinary circumstances.
"He said your name, taunted me."
Strained, tired, green eyes looked back towards her, towards Sylvia Virtos , as she admitted what she'd been trying to keep to herself. Perhaps the Sith lord had guessed right - there was perhaps a single person who could spark fear into the Jedi, and it wasn't him. Sitting here, beside her now, was the only person that made her vulnerable, the only tether to her past she held onto. The teachings she'd been given as a Sith told her to cut things off now, to give into her fear and try to save her by pushing her away, to tumble back down into that pit she'd climbed out of. Her fingers tightened around Sylv's hand.
Life as a Jedi had taught her otherwise.
"I want this, you - us. I'm afraid, to be honest, but I can't keep running away anymore."
That momentary panic, the fomenting anxiety, slowly slipped into a sort of surety in her decision. Confidence built on a resolve to make sure that the words she'd heard aboard the Mercy never came to pass, though hardly as iron-clad as it'd been at the time. "I'm sorry, that was.. I watched so many people die, Sylv, and I couldn't do anything. And.." She grew quiet, something clearly more to be said, but that certainty in her seemed to waver again, though perhaps not over the same concerns. The appearance of that impassable blast door that had nearly turned the station into her tomb haunted her, reminding her of her mortality, and it was in this that the conflict in her drew from - to admit she almost hadn't been able to keep her word.
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