Syra
Lady of Misfortune
Name: Syra Pronunciation: [Sigh-ruh]
Faction: The Sith Ascendancy
Rank: Sith Knight
Species: Human
Age: Thirty-Seven (Galactic Standard.)
Height: 5'9"
Weight: Lightweight
Eyes: Grey
Hair: Brunette
Skin: Pale
Force Sensitive: Yes
- Borderline Personality Disorder
- Apathetic
- Ruthless
- Short Temper
Notable Possessions:
Strengths:
- Agile
- Adept Duelist
- Adept Hunter
- Physical Prowess
- Deteriorating Mental State
- Impulsive
- Drug Addict
- Alcoholic
The Tale of Lady Syra
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=phGZ-KFfqu4
Family is a bond that runs deeper than any relationship, some say. The love and support of people that can overwhelm any hardship or stress weighing down on the spirit and mind. The unconditional acceptance no matter the sin or fault within one's nature, to better the character of the fallen and misguided.
Family is a lie, happiness is an illusion.
There is no love.
There is cruelty, and there is death.
There is suffering, there is acceptance of that suffering.
This is the law of the land, the truth.
For Lady Syra, the loss of a child had caused her very spirit to grow stale and brittle, crumbling apart at the seams and breaking into a pile of detritus never to be repaired.
A heavy burden to molest the very mind of a noble-woman that would give her wealth as charity to all her humbled servants, to those that helped her in her every moment of need. That kindness in her character was ripped away, trampled upon and stained with tears and wasted days.
Deceit, misery...
The pairing of a lifetime.
The bloodied miscarriage of life to never be rescued from the depths of the Nether, piercing her eardrums with phantom cries that were not present for anyone but herself. The images of a fetus writhing in agony plagued her mind, and soon sickness would follow the fair Lady.
The fruit of flesh, wasted.
The future, erased before it could be planned.
The sunshine turned into perpetual moonlight, for it shaded in the ugliest parts of Lady Syra's scarred memories.
The one that forced the seed.
The nightmare.
Time became irrelevant as the addiction set in, the drunken breath mingling with cries and hatred.
The fair Lady's abode became desolate, in disrepair.
She sat alone, bathing in the dust-speckled light.
Seeking the innocence of a child lost, robbing it of life to forever remember her failure.
To sate the pain.
