Private In Memoriam

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora reached out to brush her organic fingers against the paneling of the meditation chamber. The light emitting from the walls was bright, yet not glaringly vibrant. There were several preset colors which she'd cycled through, and the option to play with something more custom. She'd settled on a soothing blue wavelength that was said to boost concentration and impart a calming effect.

Cora did not feel calm.

She wondered if the lighting looked sickly against her skin. Sat cross-legged facing Makko, she fidgeted with the glove covering her mechanized hand, a replacement she was still adjusting to after her jarring encounter with Kasir Dorran .

They were not here to discuss her temporary captivity, at least, not at length. Cora tried to smile at Makko, her lips forming an awkward, slanted line that seemed to sag beneath the weight of her worries. She reminded herself that they'd found their way back to one another and had forged their relationship into something stronger. It had taken time. Time had lead them here, lead them to confront the evil that Isar had done to her during the invasion of Coruscant.

It was one thing to talk something out, to explain what was happening and how it made you feel. It was another thing entirely to invite someone into your mind, to have them pick apart a private, soul-crushing memory that had defined you. The Dark Jedi had mixed them up in her mind, blending the man who'd hurt her with the man who'd only ever loved her.

The former was dead. The latter was sitting in front of her. Cora let her smile fade, but remnants of it remained in the gentle curve of her lips and in the creases beneath her eyes.

She reached out, experimentally, to run her gloved fingers against his hand. The lack of natural sensation was still difficult to get used to.

"So...how does this work?"

Makko Vyres

 

[Makko Vyres]

His eyes followed her hand. He placed his own over it. When she had first come back there was no way he could have focussed on this. Cora had been taken again, leaving him powerless. No amount of jedi training could have calmed the tempest of his heart.

He was feeling better. Ready to try this.

"I don't know if it will work. Not right away. I know you trust me but I know this isn't...it's not going to be easy."

It had been hard to work through the library and ask questions of their masters without giving the plan away.

"Like...when a jedi works on the mind of anyone without training, the mind can fight back. Yours knows how to fight properly."

Makko let go of her hand and gave a little shrug.

What had been done to her had damaged to bond between them. It was hard to sense unless he went looking for it. Like a splinter, but in a part of his body he could never reach.

"If you push me I'll back away. Trust me. I love you."

"Take deep breaths. Meditate. I'll reach out to you."

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora had to smile, a mournful little upturn of her lips. Since when had anything ever been easy for them? Even first stumbling into their courting phase had been fraught with irritation and denial.

Being here felt easier with his hand atop her own. Not that she could really feel it, but she felt as though she almost could. When he let go of her hand, Cora exhaled slowly.

"No matter what happens," she began, "I'm glad that we're here."

Out of all the directions for their relationship to have taken, they were here. Together. What they had was woven was with countless threads of shared experiences – joy, pain, pleasure, sorrow. The other paths she could've taken on Ukatis and Thule began to fade into darkness. The one that lay ahead of her was not bright and vibrant, but glowing warmly.

Cora let her eyes fall closed, let her breathing steady. Isar was on her mind, and she let her thoughts of him float like leaves on a stream. Further and further they drifted from her observation, until they'd vanished over the horizon.

Makko Vyres

 

[Makko Vyres]

No matter what happens.

The possibility that he could make everything worse - the one thing most previous to him - briefly broke his concentration. He let fear wash over him, accepting it and moving on.

He took slow, deep breaths in through his nose. Each was more shallow than the last until it didn't feel as if he was breathing at all. Makko could suddenly hear his own heartbeat. That too, started to slow. One final beat and the world around him evaporated.

He closed his eyes and opened them again.

"Cora."

Everything was an abstract haze. He could see her. Almost. It was like have her presence on the periphery of his vision but she was right in front of him. The more he focused on her, the more his gaze slipped off her form.

Light sprung up between them. Strands of golden light. They stretched upwards, fraying.

He knew this. It was how he pictured their bond in his mind's eye. Each thread a memory or shared experience that bound them together. There were dark, inky black threads in that woven bundle.

This wasn't what he has expected. He had imagined a more natural flow between her memories. Instead they seemed to have manifested this representation of the damage.

"I think those are the memories that he meddled with," Makko said. He didn't know their full character. Had the strands been corrupted by adding Horace or had memories of Horace been woven into their past.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Rarely had Cora meditated so closely with another Jedi. Never with the intent to allow someone into her memories.

Their bond manifested between them as threads of light, spiraling tightly around one another and woven into a stalk. Cora could not see where they began, nor where they ended.

She reached out, tentatively, to touch one of the luminous strands. As her fingers brushed against it, a recollection played in the space around them. Herself and Makko, a few years younger, sat nervously at the Noble's kitchen table after Vera Noble had tattled on them for sharing a brief moment of affection in a darkened corridor of the temple. Their relationship hadn't even taken shape yet, but that moment had helped to nudge them closer to what they were now.

Cora smiled. Back then, she'd wanted to both crawl into a hole and jump from a window at the same time, but now, the memory was pleasant in how wholesome it had been. Valery hadn't been upset with them in the slightest, though she imagined that her Master might've enjoyed seeing her squirm just a bit.

Her fingers drew back from that bright strand, then sought one of the darker strings. There was a moment of hesitation before she pressed her touch to the inky thread.

Somber darkness burned through her vision, eating away at the lovely memory until she saw herself again. Standing beside Horace, they were in a lavishly decorated room, surrounded by lavishly adorned guests. She could hear the sound of his voice, but his exact words had been long forgotten. Though she hadn't turned to look at his face, she felt the weight of his venomous stare.

Cora recalled the way her arm and shoulder trembled as she struggled to levitate a glass of wine. A party trick. One that she could've performed with ease, had the voidstone in her wedding ring not heavily hindered her connection to the Force.

Horace knew this. It was less overt than the physical violence he exacted unto her, but no less cruel. To put a noblewoman in a position where she couldn't hide her strife among an audience was vicious. Her hand trembled, and a few droplets of wine fell. Red ink on a white carpet.

In private, he'd discipline her. The sting of his palm on her cheek might've been long gone, but she could recall the sensation easily.

Cora pulled back from the memory. She drew her hand away from the strand and brought it to her cheek. It tingled, like the ghost of a bad dream.

Makko Vyres

 

[Makko Vyres]

The first memory drew around them. He found himself enshrouded in the experience. His mind - or perhaps the pair of them collectively - filled in the blanks to allow him to stand inside the experience.

It was a little overwhelming. Not only could he feel what she experienced now as she looked back upon that memory, but he could feel what the younger Cora had felt too.

Makko stopped pushing back and let it wash over him.

This was the risk. That he lost his sense of himself in her thoughts and memories. He had been perfectly clear about the risks of doing this to Cora, but might have underplayed what could happen to him. Allowing the experience to flow past him made him like the willow; he wouldnt shatter but could eventually becoming permanently distorted by the experience.

Seeing the memory and how Cora had felt an even more acute sense of guilt than himself was a happy start, he thought.


The next brought a roll of shame. It was far from the worst Horace might have done to her, but Makko realised he had never known the extent of the little things he had done to undermine her. He felt the little flash of pain that sent Cora recoiling from the memories.

"I don't know, exactly how this works," he murmured softly. In this conjured realm of memories he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I don't know which of these are just your memories - good or bad - and which are moments between us and which have been changed by the sith.

"Im sorry, I think we'll just have to work forwards until we find them and then I can try and see what they did to you. Do you think he changed that one?" Makko asked.

He was going to experience her pain and see his own face causing it. It was going to test them both to stand up to such a thing and not lose themselves.

"I can't believe he made you perform like that, just to watch you struggle." His hand touched her cheek and he offered what strength he had. It was easy to avoid looking back, to forget the times he had reached down that bond and offered every ounce of strength he could. Because no matter how it had hurt him, what she had suffered directly had been a thousand times worse.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Inwardly, Cora grimaced. She didn't realize that she was cringing outwardly, too, as she recoiled from both the unpleasant memory and Makko's condolence.

Shame had been a powerful driver in her life, and Horace had fashioned that into a weapon he used to discipline her. Sometimes, she had an inkling that his cruelty was just for sport.

The brush of Makko's fingertips against her cheek nearly had a tear falling from the corner of her eye. Her instinct was to recoil in embarrassment, to reject his compassion because she felt both uncomfortable and mortified. He'd witnessed Cora had some of her lowest lows, but she'd had little control over what Horace inflicted unto her – what he'd reduced her to.

She bit the inside of her lip and breathed heavily through her nose. Leaning on Makko wasn't a weakness, and in truth, she did take comfort in his empathy.

"No," she murmured. Her voice was strained, almost on the edge of tears, which caught her by surprise. Time moved slower here, and so she took another long moment to compose herself. "I haven't...thought about this particular memory in a while. I don't think he touched it."

His hand was still on her cheek, and Cora placed her own atop it. A point of warmth between the twisting darkness and confusion that simmered around them. She had to believe that they were stronger than this.

Another memory started to take shape around them. Swatches of color paintbrushed against the backdrop until they took shape, then detail.

Cora, standing in an alcove of the palace's courtyard, among burning embers and charred husks of plant life.

Makko Vyres

 

[Makko Vyres]

"I haven't...thought about this particular memory in a while. I don't think he touched it."

His hand was still on her cheek, and Cora placed her own atop it. A point of warmth between the twisting darkness and confusion that simmered around them. She had to believe that they were stronger than this.

He had set them on this path and he would see it through. Maybe pulling at old scars would cause them to bleed, but he had to hope they could both push through this.

The past could never be changed, but it had to lose its power over their future.

Another memory started to take shape around them. Swatches of color paintbrushed against the backdrop until they took shape, then detail.

Cora, standing in an alcove of the palace's courtyard, among burning embers and charred husks of plant life.

"You used to tell me about the garden," Makko whispered.

He could feel the sense of bitter regret. Here, he could tell, she had been at point where her resentment could have galvanised into resolve or she could have been hollowed out by Horace's punishment.

"Why would he even..."

He was cut off by a voice from within the memory.

"This, this is what is best for you Corazona."

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Horace had taken care to keep her feasibly isolated within the palace walls. He'd even dismissed her household staff, replacing her ladies maids with unfamiliar women who undoubtedly acted as his eyes and ears.

The garden was a small thing. Something to tend to and focus on. It made her feel grounded, and perhaps, even reconnected with the Force, if only a little.

It had seemed like such a benign thing. Ukatian roses, aura blossoms, and silph. The latter of which, when appropriately harvested, dried, and strained into a tea, was an old folk remedy for avoiding pregnancy.

Horace's voice hit her like lightning. It wasn't localized to any direction, but seemed to reverberate all around them.

"It wasn't," she hissed to the projection. The words tried to stick to her throat, but she forced them out anyway. "You never wanted what was best for me. You only wanted my submission."

The tears finally fell, and she choked on a gasping sob. Her hand trembled and gripped his own, hard. A few sharp, quivering breaths had her voice steady enough to speak.

"I…never knew that someone could be so cruel in so many ways."

Cora shook her head. Something in their bond wavered, then tightened.

"It still hurts, but not in the way that it used to."

Makko Vyres

 

[Makko Vyres]

He could feel his mind being pulled in different directions. His own sense of self was at the heart of the tug of war. Makko had to open himself up to the memories and to Cora whilst keeping the integrity of that solid core of himself. It was not easy.

Makko swore under his breath. He could be creative with swear words. It was almost a competition in the slums of Denon to create the worst insult for someone. In this case, the tone and flash of his own anger were far more direct than the words he used.

"You were just another achievement for him," Makko said. "I've... I think because you were so hurt I've not always said things as they were."

He was young. He didn't know what was best for Cora. Realising that she did more than him had been a slow lesson of many misunderstandings over the years.

Yet even growing up among Denon gangs he hadn't developed the same outlook as Horace. There was no excuse for the prince. He had been rotten to the core, even if he was a product of his culture.

After bearing the grip on his hand until it abated, he gave her hand a more reassuring squeeze back.

"I'm sorry we have to walk through these," he said. "I can feel where the sith moved. I'm not sure I can follow it easily. He was... He was working quickly. Stabbing deep to find something to use over and over."

"It's something else to see how I could use my power if I turned wrong. And to see it done on you..."



Another image of Horace suddenly loomed out of the mists. He was angry. He drew back his hand ready to strike Cora but froze on the edge of control. He only stopped, Makko realised, because he didn't want to unleash that venom and strike Cora so hard across the face that it couldn't be covered.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora flinched. Teeth clenched, she retracted her neck with a grimace, simultaneously steeling herself for a strike while trying to make herself look as small as possible.

The sting never came. It would never come, not even in that particular memory. But her fear of Horace had been real. It still was. He was dead, but he still sometimes lurked in the darkened corners of her mind like a boogeyman.

Other scenes would play out around them. Darker, more intimately violent. Shock and fear gradually faded into quiet discomfort and acceptance.

Makko kept her steady. He was a reminder - a physical, and emotional one - that she was loved.

The next memory was strikingly vivid. Makko had seen the outcome of this one, what she wore on the gnarled skin of her hip.

It was the morning after their wedding. In his study, the prince smiled as he beckoned his wife closer. It was not an expression of joy, but rather like an animal bearing his fangs.

This was not Horace. Not directly. His features had been subtly twisted. Sharper, darker. A dark curl fell across his gaze as he regarded her.

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, soft and gentle.

Cora tensed. Her hand pulled away from Makko on reflex.

Makko Vyres

 

[Makko Vyres]

​

There were memories that had not been touched here. When he heard a soft wail being muffled into soft silk he felt his strength waver. She was forced to face them again. That on its own spoke of how much she valued her relationship.

There was another way she could have continued leaving the past behind; she could have walked away from him.

It was his anchor, his strength in their journey. Their love held them together, it held his own mind together.

"There," he hissed.

One word carried both his triumph at finding a strand of the Sith's work and his disgust to see it for himself.

"I can do this," he murmured. Makko's hand was now free and he stepped away from here in the memory space. "I'm still here."

His consciousness spread into the memory. Makko felt as if a strong gust of wind would disperse his very soul. Horace's features started to shift as Makko tried to pick the work apart.

Horace slid his list of requests across the table. Makko felt his gut churn, but at least it meant he was still whole and feeling. The prince continued on his diatribe, walking past Cora to talk about the trophy on his mantlepiece.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

It was in Makko's hands, now. Cora wasn't sure what to do aside from reliving the acceleration toward one of the worst moments in her life.

Horace stepped past her, looking toward the saber hilt mounted above the fireplace. A tribute to his wife's accomplishments, he'd called it. It felt like mounting the head of a game animal he'd shot.

Normally, she'd allow herself to drift away from the painful recollections as they surfaced. Her work here was simple, but did not mean that it was easy – she had to keep the memory afloat so that Makko could do what he needed to.

The Prince's voice had fallen into the background, but now Cora heard him loud and clear. His hand grasped the end of the fire poker as he brought forth its glowing orange tip. Such a shame that even from beyond the grave, he could still make her feel so small.

Cora clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle a shuddering sob. Around them, the visual projection of her memory began to waver, unable to handle the shame of Makko witnessing what was about to happen next. He knew, of course. He'd seen the grisly results.

"No...n-no…!" She gasped, pleading as if she could change the inevitable outcome. "Please...d...don't..."

Makko Vyres

 

[Makko Vyres]

He couldn't separate himself from it all. The bond of shared memories became the roots of a tree, dragging him down into the ground to suffocate him.

Makko could feel Cora's fear, could feel how intrinsically tied to him it had become with the Sith's manipulation. Instead of holding firm, he lost himself in those feelings.

Suddenly he was standing before Cora, suddenly he was surging forwards to drag her down. He was responsible for the tattoo, for that childish idea of rebellion. He was responsible. She had taken so much pride in appearances that the idea of ink on skin had been difficult to overcome but it had led to her being mutilated with that angry mark.

Before the tip could descend he lost himself. He thought he could face up to the worst she had suffered with time as his bugger, but he hadn't been prepared enough.

The memory, the dream, the twisted reality, it all faded into a sea of muted colours.

"I'm sorry."

His voice sounded quiet.

"I'm so sorry..."

He regathered himself, made certain he was whole. Then he reached out to brush against her mind. He resolved back into an image of himself, his hand reaching for her.

"Not just for what happened, but for failing you just now. Because we'll have to go back to that memory for me to undo the Sith's work. I faltered."

He tried to draw Cora into his embrace, feeling a wash of hot guilt. She had been brave enough to face up to this and his weakness would draw it out.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Her jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut as she braced for the pain. She wouldn't feel it as viscerally, she knew, but it would come in the form of shame that rolled over her like a wave.

That sensation never came. Horace's grip faded from her skin, and his voice receded into nothing.

She opened one eye, peeking across from her. Makko was obscured by the strands that wove their bond, but she could feel his regret before he spoke it.

"It's alright," she murmured. Cora couldn't feel the words leave her lips, but the sentiment hung between them. She took note of his outstretched hand, but did not move just yet. "This isn't easy for you either."

Cora took longer to gather herself. Hearing that she'd have to relive that again was no ideal. Flickers of anxiety welled in her chest.

If they stopped now, they'd be worse off. They had to try again.

Her chest rose and fell with slow, intentional breaths. Having her past rendered before them like this was difficult, but it didn’t hurt her in the acute way that it had when her wounds were still fresh. Now, it was more like a building weight that hung from her shoulders, slowing her down but also giving her more time to work through her feelings.

Cora extended a hand to Makko and allowed him to pull her against his chest. She felt his shame and warmth twine up her spine, and embraced both.

“Again.”

Makko Vyres

 

[Makko Vyres]

“Again.”

"Again," he agreed.

It was even more challenging that he had expected. He had to restrain himself from reacting to events that played out. At the same time, he had to hold on to the emotional core of himself or else he risked being brushed out of existence.

Maintaining both of those to keep moving through her memories at the same time was almost impossible.

She was so strong to revisit these moments to save their future. He had to be just as determined.

He focused on the lightsaber on the mantle piece. It was such a cruel joke. Cora had been his trophy and yet those things he had valued in weighing up the negotiations he had stripped from her. The lightsaber on display for his friends, the ring place on her finger that surpressed her use of the Force.

That image appeared, drawing them back to the memory.

Horace, wearing his face, stepped forwards with the poker. Makko wanted to scream and shout, to throw the man down and make him beg like an animal for his own life. Instead he had to let it all wash over him.

It was deeper than just his face. The sith had taken what Makko meant to her and woven it through these memories.

No... It was so hard to see her treated this way. To see her caged and beaten. But it was in the past. He was gone. Cora had a future ahead of her and he wanted to be in it.

"I shouldn't be here," Makko said. He pulled on that thread. He couldn't stop the memory playing out, but the aspects of himself that didn't belong started to draw back.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

In the depths of a living nightmare, Cora felt Makko work. It was the feel of him plucking a coarse thread that didn't belong, drawing it from a snarl of steel fibers, that had her grimacing. The memory of being seared was bitter, but this was unpleasant in a different way.

A part of her had become numb to the recollection, able to distance herself from the hot iron of the poker and Horace's sneering face. A different part of her was still unfathomably saddened by it. Having it witnessed brought about a tremendous amount of shame and embarrassment; it burned her cheeks almost in the same manner that Horace had burned the defiance from her.

There was another part of her, much smaller than the rest, that thirsted for revenge. She tried not to feed into that, but at times it was hard not to. Cora had felt no satisfaction when Horace's body hit the stone patio below the window; only an overwhelming swell of relief, followed by fear.

She felt the unnatural thread as it slipped away. The features of her assailant faded back into those which she remembered – cold, cruel, and brutal. Cora heaved a shuddering sigh of relief. It was a strange thing to be thankful for, remembering such a violent moment of abuse with such clear detail.

But Makko's presence had receded into the background. That did not make it any less stalwart.

At last, the errant string was plucked free. The moment it came undone, they were jerked into another memory. This one, untouched.

Horace's hands around her neck. A surge of panic. The wild surprise on his face and true, visceral fear, at the weightlessness against his back. The sickening thud, and the sight of his broken body splayed out on the brickwork. Blood pooled around the stones beneath his head as life began to fade from the wide, shocked eyes that stared up at her.

Makko Vyres

 

[Makko Vyres]

Makko had to draw his own feelings back into himself, otherwise he was going to lose them to hers. They had different perspectives on these events, some were fresh for Makko, but all of them more personal and poignant to her. He could have been consumed by what she felt.

He felt himself drawn back into some semblance of self. As much as he could draw up lines and borders in the expanse of her own memories.

It was right as Horace's body struck the stones.

He'd known how it had happened. Hearing his accusations and his threats and seeing the visceral violence that led to his death was very different. Horace had known about the gardens and didn't even care as long as she gave him what he wanted and didn't embarrass him.

He had underestimated Cora. A misjudgement to think that threatening to take on her younger sister would have cowed her. Cora had married him to protect her family, but she would take even more extreme paths to ensure their safety. She had been out of options.

Makko stood at the window beside her.

"He looks quite small from up here."

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Given the distance between them – several stories – it was difficult to make out Horace's features. Cora had never tried to peer too hard into them anyway, fearful of what she might find. Now, she honed in on the face of a dying man. Over his angular, noble features, pale from shock. His cold blue eyes, once sharp and cruel, seemed to fade.

Cora let out a shuddering exhale. The errant thread had been removed, and what was once a horrible memory would remain only as such. Nothing more.

"I think now, I can see," she murmured while reaching for Makko's hand, "just how small of a man he really was."

Cora counted the beats. By the ninth one, the maid who'd discovered Horace's body would scream. This time, there was only silence. A moment held in quiet tension as cicadas chirped and buzzed into the cool night air.

The memory faded, and the curtain drew closed. With one final shudder, Cora let herself fall forward into Makko's lap.

Makko Vyres

 

[Makko Vyres]

He stroked his hand slowly down across her hair, from the top of her head to down her back. He let the world return around him, galvanising his own sense of self as he extracted himself from her mind.

They had been talking about taking the next steps in their relationship when Cora had revealed the impact of the Sith's intrusions. Her memories of Horace had been merged with those of Makko. She was brave to have kept soldiering on despite all those memories being dredged up every time she looked at him.

He desperately wanted to know if the work had been successful. That would have to wait.

"How do you feel?" he asked. This had all been a risk, but they had decided to take it together. "I love you," he whispered.

That hollow sensation where he had been pulled in all directions was filled with the sense of relief and his affection for Cora. They had come through so much, they would get through this.