Private Fear Inoculum

[Rurik Fel]

E X E C U T O R
WAYWARD SON OF THE EMPIRE
GARDENS OF PELLAEON | RAVELIN | BASTION
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
F E A R _ I N O C U L U M
Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt ​

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It was one of the scant few places of peace and solace left in the Galaxy to Rurik. Even if it was the very site of his duel to nigh death with the demon, Darth Prazutis, in the same it was the very venue that played host to redemption, fulfillment of purpose to wayward souls whom meant far more to him than his enemy. Both Vaulkhard and his wayward son, Bastard . A duty done, a battle won. Though ever brazen the fiery soul of the Paladin that Rurik held, he'd taken full advantage of this interim between the Galactic trembling that the New Imperial Order's conquest brought on. Past the searing pain that constantly encased his mortal shell, he found peace in these Gardens.

It was his place of rest, contemplation, meditation. He could feel a faint embrace from the lost souls of his ancestors as if reaffirming to him that he was home, that he was finally a place where he belonged. Even if the Sith had done all their best to mar it past recognition, even going as far as to uproot the marble foundation of the iron sun at the center of the meditation chamber in order to place down the crimson saber in its place, a barbaric act all but immediately undone by the newly deemed Lord Executor.

It was his task to rebuild Ravelin, his task to rebuild the great Imperial heart of Bastion, to resuscitate once more for this New Order. Many regarded it as a blessing, a reward. It was anything but a burden, a monumental deed. But as the son of Fel he was, it was his to take on. No other mortal man or woman would've been just and right for it.

He'd reserved the full rising of the sun to meet with another wayward soul. Lyra Voi'kryt. By all accounts, one of the closest confidants and earliest comrades to the Sovereign Imperator himself...and by fewer, more disclosed reports. A practicing Sith. Each and every detail of this was scraped clean from any COMPNOR, ISB or generic intelligence report regarding her with all but nebulous and roundabout methodology explaining her oh so stark infernal eyes. Only one man had this ability and it was a man Rurik had no right to question even if he'd know every answer before he was there to give them. Kriegan and Corvallus were no well kept secret to make matters more peculiar.

It was a half plead, half command that Irveric sought for Rurik to commune with Lyra, to gauge and prod her inner thoughts, to see the scale of the tormenting wrought unto her by her depraved Sith master Avernus and to, in Irveric's hopes, redeem her. She didn't ever have to wear the argent as Rurik did and certainly not the brown and tan drab of the Jedi...but she had to be at peace with herself if nothing else.

He was hardly expecting her to make due on her summons out of her own desire, only out of the long instilled sense of military obligation fixed into her from decades of war fighting be it beneath the Sith or Imperial banners. He had abandoned his iron skin in favor of drab grey robes. A humble arrangement, not all too dissimilar to what Roan Fel, his late ancestor donned when centering himself in these tranquil halls. Though his hood still concealed his features, the gaze into the Twilight inflicted by Kascalion leaving his visage marred and disfigured beyond any good taste.

Hearing her measured footfalls behind him, he let a gloved hand drift from the branch alight with bright pink, a native Carlaci tree blossoming with its full beauty in a climate controlled hall.

"I'm sure its not what is ever expected of me...looking as I am...to be here. But this place is a font of peace...ease. Here...I am isolated. From the Galaxy, from the Order, from the fires of war that bathe the Braxant or defile Wild Space...and yet, I so gratefully am allowed to admire the beauty of worlds I've never touched nor tread the surface of myself." He seems to begin to walk, expecting her to follow along side him.

"There's beauty in all life, Lyra. Just as there is in the blossoms of Carlac...so too is there in the thorny brush of Iridonia. Because it is all...in order. Exactly as it should be. Just as the tropical flowers of Ajan Kloss are allowed to grow great and big to drink up the endless rains that bathe that world...so too is the hearty desert flower of Er'kit perfect...even if there is little water spared for it, it endures. Each and every shard of life perfectly molded over the trials and tribulations of its crooked path through life...to endure. To make perfect order. Where all living things act as an instrument to compliment the other within a symphony." Rurik explains, a hand brushing along the wide and flat deep green leaf of a plant native to Ajan Kloss. And one oh so recently fed its due of water as it unfurls all but happily to drink in the sunlight as it pierces through the glass of the abortorium.

"That is what we all are, Lyra. We are beings enduring...both marble and sculptor. What begins as a harsh, crude block to be chipped away at to reveal the beautiful statue beneath. Some of us...each strike of the chisel hurts sharper, each stroke of fate burning deeper. I can sense that in you, Lyra. The Sith and its depraved code sought to consume you and yet...you made due on your vengeance. And you endured. But such a parasite is not so easily ripped clean...I can tell immediately...you are still not at peace with yourself. I can gauge possibilities as to why but to contrive a narrative within my own thoughts would be of disservice...if you would be so undeservingly candid to me...perhaps we can find where next to strike, to better mold you into the enduring testament of will you are so justly supposed to be." Rurik suggests.

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Major General // Sybila
Bastion, Ravelin
Rurik Fel

Bottom Of The Lake

​

The harsh burn of the plasma from the sabers was still burnt into her mind’s eye, each stroke of her blade. Crimson that bled over the morning skies, the fog could have been mistaken for the smoke canisters dropped to cover their descent on that bloody day. The Force itself had imprinted itself upon her with every thin sliver, bleeding her dry. The violence mute and forgotten, but she only saw red thereafter in the mirror.

Some things were not made right by the end of the war but Lyra had learned well theses were matters better locked behind durasteel doors and muffed by the ignorant bliss of raising her two boys. She felt half mad now, limited in her hunt-how did she ask permission to go. She didn’t. They spoke of redemption like it was the end all, it was supposed to be undone by her hand but her eyes betrayed her. Every a surgery would not uproot what stained her. Maybe she was okay with it too, if they were okay with their own crimes were her's any worse she wondered. Sith. Here she was hanging on to the Imperial war machine again when she needed to let go. Lyra had figured out the game long before she had reached planet side, the orders to meet their fair Executor.

When there was work to be done? Less the a week's time and she'd be running a new defense. Was it here she stopped sitting in the dirt and trenches though? Lyra didn't much care for that idea.

She no longer had the energy to care about much, and she had yawned boldly on the transport before muttering on about the traffic. Maybe Irveric Tavlar would simply grow a pair and tell her to go to therapy next. If she could summarize the months up well from the hellish brush and the plain brutality of the scrap between Apprentice and Master. Her chest tightened painfully and the rush of anger encased her and made something less of her still. Lyra had buttoned up those tells and swallowed them neatly, no one needed to know. Even when he has asked her, even lovers kept secrets and it was fine.

Lyra could recount every step taken atop the walls of the then Palace but the feeling-it was simply cold and detached. In her isolation things had only grown worse, she had begun to dread the days dwindling on what they had labeled as her maternity leave. The very thought still made her scoff, hiding was what she was doing. Was it on Irveric’s behalf, for her own fear. Useless things, perhaps the worst kept secrets. She wanted to choke on her own laughter as she produced a flask, dumping it’s contents into the burning cafe. What a mess they had made.

They had people to clean up political messes. She wasn’t cleaning up Irveric’s any more, only her’s. The halls she marched down were long, Lyra endured it in silence like she had when she had crawled down from the perch where she had murdered Avernus himself. A tight smile graced her lips.

Ravelin had grown into a shining example, the Imperial machine had been crowned here amidst the grey highrises and urban center. Fortress Imperator had been all harsh lines, towering against the horizon. If it were not for the plain hypocrisy Lyra had dressed herself in, she would have thrown herself head first in the next deployment rather than return. As if the rank bar would do much for her. It was hard to tell if it was the trauma or if the Force really did scream here, if the death and wrath that had churned the very pavement up. A heavy exhale escaped her, and the woman ripped herself from her rampant thoughts.

If it was not the nagging whispers, it was the disillusion with..everything.

She had lingered long, hesitating before the very Fortress. Careful hands had wrapped herself in the military greys and heavy coat, fixating upon the badges of war. One good eye would see her disheveled and could trace the caking foundation plyed beneath her eyes to hide the corruption. She was never good at those things. Lyra hadn’t been plagued by hesitancy the night they had called for celebration of victory in libation. Time did this to her and her brows furrowed pressing on under the shadow of the banners.

It was one of her few weapons against the prying she supposed. A new mother they would say, a good excuse. The small detail that had marched behind her had halted upon coming to the gardens. The distant echo of..silence and fountains. The green was offensive to the eyes, the air thick. With a cafe in hand, she sipped the scalding liquid in her approach. She didn’t need to see the man to find him, the second nature within the Force attune left her with one breath and her boots led the way. If she had been scared of Irveric’s first watch dog, well the new one was nothing. The Knight, from the corps. She knew of the man Rurik through report and passing but an indifference was entrenched upon her here in his presence.

“Good morni-”

He was speaking but it was the better part noise as she viewed the plants. A sigh hissed behind her teeth and the man told more by one look then by his oration but she endured. A glimpse of the man..he was a lone and odd character. His sacrifice in battles, she could offer him a measure of respect in that alone but he was a stranger. A small buzzing caught her attention as insects made their way lazily through the canopy and she brushed out her coat. Lyra didn’t budge more than a few steps, this was where she drew a line in the sand. Lyra knew what they were looking for, and they’d find it in her lies. A sour grin was hidden behind the lip of her cup. The Major should have saluted, but here they were and she slurped away at her cafe.

“Ah..something something peace is a lie...Through victory my chains are broken annnd do stay out my head if that’s what you’re doing,” Lyra drawled, raising her hand and cafe as she jutted one finger toward him. She couldn’t be irritated, Lyra was far too weary but hearing that name. Someone else's name on the lips of the man. She wanted to offer up a magnitude but the pecking order, and who the man would whisper to behind closed doors. An assessment, maybe Irveric should of warned him better. “Major General would suffice if you’d be so kind Executor. I am a creature of habit after all. Very nice speech as well, truly. Your rhetoric must fuel the masses of Imperial Knights, fierce fighters-those who I have fought alongside. I commend you truly.”

 

[Rurik Fel]

E C H O E S

She immediately seemed abrasive to Rurik's rhetoric. Not that it offended him of course. It was all hard truths. Hard truths cut both ways. Some, deeper than others. He could feel the turmoil in her being. A tortured scion of The Force before him. Buried in darkness but with a far more nuanced intent.

Protect her family, sow vengeance on those who'd wronged her. She was farther from the Sith Code she'd just recited than she might have been led to believe.

In regards to addressing by rank, as much as he'd rather care to leave titles and station of out this, retain it to an interaction of two people as they were and nothing else, he'd respect the request as not to sow any discomfort with her.

In a rare bout of amusement, he offered a faint laugh to her claim that he could ignite the passion of his knights with his words.

"I merely offer what little wisdom I have to those willing to hear it. I serve our Empire, our Order before anything else, Major General. I am not here to prod your thoughts or enter your mind. I will be as candid with you as I possibly can, Major General. This has been a task ord- no...personally requested to me by our Imperator. You are someone he seems to care a great deal about, Major General. I can make inferences...but that is not my place." Rurik admits, in the highest echelons, the children between Irveric and Lyra were a well enough kept secret but anyone with but a fragment of the context could piece together their relationship. Fel himself wondered if that was what kept Lyra alive now, though she clearly was no overt Sith, the line was muddied enough to pull her as a hostile designation under Kyber Dark.

"Unfortunately, in the ways of The Force, he is unworthy of providing any level of proper guidance, as you know well enough already I am sure. That is where I have been asked to provide what insight I can. In the hopes that...in the fire you've gathered in your heart, your soul. You can use the heat to temper your metal to a lethal blade instead of letting it erode into a shapeless mass. It is not in my interests to have you sworn as a Knight of the Empire. I know that is not your aim and I respect your intent. All I wish for you is inner peace, strengthened discipline. A more resolute will." Rurik states in full candidness.

"You have a family now...children. If nothing else, be the mother they deserve. You can not while you are so deeply conflicted within...so do tell, if you do not mind, Major General...whatever drove you to the Sith creed?" Rurik inquired, he'd not spared that line of patience over the Sith to any before.

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Major General // Sybila
Bastion, Ravelin
Rurik Fel

Identity

​

It was a skill long tested and stretched thin, the art of speaking but not saying truly anything. The woman had to wonder if the man had ever been faced with petty tidings, if he could pick up the nuances or at the very least was attuned by the sixth sense.

“Be..the mother they deserve?” Lyra uttered, the sharp intake of breath was wrought with unseen pain. Lyra stood still for a moment, trapped in disbelief as she stared at the..the man, a Knight, a bloody disfigured fool.. Her heart stuttered and her chest tightened and she swallowed her rage that clawed and gnashed inside her ribcage. Her cafe had turned in to a source of revulsion and she lowered the cup and Lyra had to crane her neck to stare elsewhere, in such a short span of minutes the woman’s form shook and the dark liquid in hand spilled over the brim of the cup. Droplets ran down the metal digits of her servo and it seemed she was unbothered by it. Lyra tried to steer her rage, but it cut deeper then any wound. What did he know? At least it was a beautiful garden, she understood it was supposed to be a place of peace. Lyra had stood in a place akin to it-but had never seen anything quite like this. She was a stranger once more and amidst the great blooms, no, it was alien and her skin crawled.

Lyra’s lip curled up to form a sneer and she released one single exhale.

“Those boys want for nothing, and they have my very heart-soul and everything I could dredge from my very body. I love them and suggesting anything less is a slight. Go ahead and make those bloody assumptions and assume whatever you please about my condition Executor, If you're worth your salt so to speak, you ought to make those assumptions and realize they really don’t actually matter what so ever. I am not ashamed either,” Lyra gritted out each word until the very last came out like a vicious hiss; warning. There had been a time she was tormented with the idea of them coming, seizing the boys long before their birth, during, and after. The only good Sith was a dead one and she..still didn’t trust Irveric and was beginning to think she would never. The audacity, another huff escaped the woman and she raised a hand to pinch her brow. He couldn’t even look her in the eye and tell her this himself?

Not that she wanted him to, but hearing uncouth words from a stranger was worse. It took all her will not to flinch as the cold touch crept along her spine, and her own voice whispered in the back of her mind. What she ought to do to him, rip-she was lying to herself more often then not these days but..Lyra would be honest here, it was moments like these simply to spite that drove her to the code. Was it that terrible that there was sense in the words? Simple words she had laughed at not months ago, over the years, revolted in the face of-despised all the same.

If she did not bare the Force beneath her skin, in her blood and soul would these violent delights be shamed? Would the passion and ambition be shamed or celebrated like any other Imperial? She was drunk on the notion, pain, and victimhood. Sybila wanted to wave it in his face like the very flag itself.

A low noise bubbled in her throat and Lyra inhaled deeply.Her thumb rubbed circles gently against her forehead, a fruitless motion that only occupied the hand. Lyra grew tense, clearly wrestling her thoughts before she gently swiped her finger across her right eye. She pulled away the contact there after a moment of consideration before hooking her fingers around the stiff eye patch that rest in place around the scars of the greater side of her body. Lyra looked up after her eyes fluttered open and shut several times, adjusting to the light. A divide marked her visibly, upon her right side circled the infernal fires within her eye. Her left though was untouched by the grasp of the Sith, the Darkside; a simple pale grey. But its corruption crept in the veins surrounding her face if he searched.

“The Imperator with all his lack of tact, should have let you in on a secret before you arranged these summons. If there's one thing I do hate more than our enemies. It is propaganda in any and all forms. He is a horrible propagator of such. People in our position can’t be blinded, can’t lie to ourselves. If I was a formless blade and untempered do you think I’d stand here before you? That I wouldn’t have been cut down during Kyber Dark, mind you which I participated in the eradication of our allies? Us or them though, pity though.” Lyra lamented, but more words hung there on her tongue but her stare burned into Rurik.

She owed him nothing, but the vindication of spelling out was there but she lulled back in one step turning her back on the Knight. Her hand swept down the front of her frock, slipping patch away in her pocket-her boots clicking loudly as walked away. Avernus may of been right but knew well matters would of been worse off if he had survived by some small sliver of pity in her heart.

"I am done here thank you."

Clearly she had not done the job right and her eyes burned. No one knew the whole story, perhaps Appw’rii was the closest to understanding but Lyra knew well the lack of connection and general distrust would always leave a wall between. Lucien Dooku could have understood but she never delved that deep, likely in his boyish way he would still have sought to ‘redeem’ her just the same. They were all slaves to their duty though. Fear surrounded her, and reigned everyone else and Lyra drew her mind around her quietly, storing away the last coals of her anger to save her later.

 

[Rurik Fel]

"You misunderstand." Rurik sounded out immediately as she sought to leave, hoping his montone statement might hold her from the door.

"I speak as I do not to judge you but because I wish to see you made stronger, to undo the great harm that the Sith have done unto you. Kascalion Giedfield...Darth Avernus. I know you know these names, I know what they have done." The Executor suggests, motioning a hand as if to stifle any attempt to silence him even if he divulged that information reluctantly, as not to reveal the extent to which their superior had informed of her to him.

"Again...again I can not iterate enough that this is not a matter of state, in spite of my position. Believe that whatever claim you wish is propaganda or not, we shall not carry this argument here. But do not argue what is fact. You were wronged, you were taken advantage of by these parasites, the Sith. You were lured into their teachings as so many have been...and they wronged you. It is time for vengeance. But you must be wary so that the same path that tantalized them does not tantalize you. You have a great deal of emotion tormenting you, I can sense this." Rurik states candidly to her before he motions for her to follow along with him, his measured steps rearing him along the halls of the gardens, exotic and beautiful plants and flowers flanking each side of their path.

"It is a liberating drug, I know. To hate, just as it is comforting to love, or humane to mourn. And it is of course...the very nature of sentience. We have been granted this gift of free thought to its fullest extent. But you were done wrong by the Sith into leading you to believe that by letting your emotion control you, that you were free. By unchaining your rage, your hate, that you could do anything. And they used that to manipulate the path you tread. But of course, you are far stronger than them...Avernus certainly found this out. " Rurik states, a gloved hand reaching out to gently run across the stem of a flower. It was flourish of color, no doubt from Glee Anselm, a nearby world to the New Order.

"But this path will lead you to ruin, as it did for them. Of this, I am certain. You need look only as far as those who you have faced down to realize this. You want to be free, do you not? In control. This...eager unfurling of your hatred will make you slave to your emotions. When in truth...what is neccessary to have true freedom...is discipline. Discipline, is control. Of your emotions...of your actions...all of it. When you hold yourself a disciplined spirit, those who will seek to control and manipulate you, will find themselves unable to. Those who oppose you...will find themselves deconstructed. Do you understand what I suggest?" Rurik inquired. It was the path that he dictated for himself, to rule by discipline, not by blind governance of impulsive emotion.

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Major General // Sybila
Bastion, Ravelin
Rurik Fel

F e m a l e R o b b e r y

​

Whatever attempt it was to soothe and bring reason to head. It didn’t change she was still burdened by the sorrow, so fresh that it burned like a raging fire. It felt like a raw wound being dissected further and the woman listened haphazardly as the Lord and Knight pressed on. Her back remained turned, stalwart and in refusal to accept his preaching outwardly. She was cut like an Imperial and clung to it then. Discipline, something bore it’s teeth in the back of her mind. When she heard the tell tale sign of footsteps and she dared to turn around. Her eyes bore into the man someone caught in her disgrace and a tidal wave, a victim.

Pathetic.

Lyra grinded her teeth hearing the whisper, flexing her unburdened hand before it balled tightly at her side; her knuckles white. She wasn’t a victim, she was an idiot for letting metters draw out to think that patience would offer an opening to strike back. That it would go away if she ignored it of all things.

She had rested on those laurels, rested in the excuse of her lies, and some days Lyra lived with herself and whatever spite it was that still drove her. To be a good person..and to be unapologetic didn’t seem attainable in her stead. She wasn’t a victim because she refused to let herself be, Lyra had accepted responsibility. It felt desperate saying that. Whether she knew it was right or wrong, it was the only thing that made her feel stronger. Was that all she was though in everyone else’s eyes? A victim, a slave?

She felt sick at the thought, stained-Avernus had wasted no time in reminding her that. The woman’s shoulders shook violently then. It would never leave her, the trindles of lightning would never leave-

I killed you, remember?​

Her rationale forced her to listen, but her eyes were wide caught somewhere in the throes of her panic and mind. She could be serene and cold and calculating but the more he spoke she only desired to scream or laugh. Though it would have only sounded deranged so she kept her mouth shut. Her mind reeled-she had exercised discipline and used it perhaps too much that bordered a black and white perspective. Though she had compromised equally in other parts of her life just the same to the same detriment. How thoughtful of Irveric to truly spill ever last thing between them before this man.

He'll kill you.​

The woman wanted to point fingers, to ensure they all knew who was to blame but it came back full circle. If she was responsible for this-

Frustration bloomed in her and coiled tightly. It was an ugly mess and the offense painted her several shades pale. Lyra wondered wondered then if she actually knew her own truth. Lyra feared losing herself to the machine as she feared being consumed by the void. If her anger was the source, maybe his words were making head way. Lyra lost in her thought trailed after him-refusing to join his side but remaining out of..something more.

Lies.

The woman couldn’t recount where she had read it, but she recalled a singular line then as she watched the white clad phantom. A reaction of anger is done out of love of oneself and desire for justice. Silence stretched and Lyra considered still walking through the doors, in the safeguard of her men and putting this behind her but her feet her leaden and something weighed down upon her so heavily. There were those who whispered in the rank and file, but she knew she was trusted, she knew them-and with own two sons. They didn’t see that. She was sick of the notion she needed to apologize for her emotions.

You know who we are. ​

Anger was the source of this confrontation, and the final blocks of the epiphany came crashing down her. Long fingers unfurled at her side then as she reached up to brush her cheek as she felt a faintest sensation trickle down. Tears..Lyra scoffed and choked on her turmoil. Her head cocked as she viewed the greenery, her chest heaved as she forced herself to breath. How many others had she encountered truthfully, let alone spoke to about matters of the Force. What did this make now..four or five? In a galaxy she was painfully reminded was far too large-why was this even an issue? Why did she allow for it to be.

Split. ​

Lyra inhaled deeply, did she trust herself to maintain control in the end? She wasn’t like them, but she was one of them and it always returned to this debate. There was no way Lyra could scrub this away from her skin and the longer she wished to not face it, there she felt a splinter and a reckoning.

“I understand..but I don’t agree I don’t think I do..I was led to believe that the Force would set me free, the account of emotion came later-and for the record...” the woman’s voice turned hoarse, each word forced but quiet. “-for the record I let them do it. I let Darth Maledictus toy with me and I should have sought reinforcements, I let Darth Avernus into my mind just the same. I was arrogant. I continued to fuel Avernus’ machinations, but it opened my eyes. I could have and should have walked away-he preyed on my first weakness and that was my shame of the Force because of my fear of the Imperator. I want to say I regret it but I..I can’t or it means everything was pointless and in that I would truly embrace victimhood. You don’t know the whole story, no one does so whatever he told you. Forget it.”

She had been a slave to a man and ideology before, her eagerness and pettiness were increasingly difficult to wrangle. Lyra knew her thoughts moments ago, her willingness to throw herself at the feet of the Sith’s ideology. was a brittle standing in itself. Lyra hid behind the brim of the cafe and drank deeply to hide her shame.

Lost.

He was right it was tantalizing and a sharp pain ebbed in the back of her skull, brought her stomach to flip and she simply felt sick. She had thought she could carve away everything else, presumed she would never fall for such base things such as a headrush. The coldness that crept over her after each battle, the harsh reality that crashed around her after each deployment. Could she even afford to question matters anymore, this was a long broken reel-if only she had kept her head down.

Her anger had changed she guessed it was the best way to describe it. Tavlar was an easy focal aswell as the Braxant Run but it had been all put behind her-she couldn't cling to that for ever..A pensive look crossed her brow and Lyra lingered in the man's shadow. She felt mocked by the serene nature, so simple and resolute was this man and faced with it. She felt the better part a hurricane.

Weak.​

Now that she was faced with it, what would she do? Knowing, and change were two different things-and her lack of confidence in this.. What would become her at the end of it all? If not for her sons sake. Her skin itched and she felt a thousand pinpicks across her body, her skin was crawling and Lyra truly wanted to bolt for the door. It crept in the back of her mind, why should she-

"Enough!" cold lips and a voice that sounded like her own boomed. The woman's voice hissed and the drawl dragged down her very spine and Lyra gaped caught off guard. Though she flinched visibly there was no noise no voice. Not which the likes Rurik could fathom. Only the sound of her cup hitting the stone and spilled drink. Lyra, startled by something choked and seized for breath. She was shaking plainly, ripped her from internal debate.

"Shit," she muttered, her voice spiked nigh shrill as if that would mask the violation of her psyche. Lyra's eyes unscrewed, unknowingly she had drawn in upon herself within seconds. Her hands raised in defense of the invisible Force and she looked down at the dark liquid now casted across cold stone.