Private Regrets and Secrets.

[Serina Calis]

Regrets and Secrets.
Location: Jutrand.
Objective: Find the will to tell the truth.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Quinn Varanin

Guilt is a chain I refuse to wear, yet here I stand, weighed down by it. Perhaps that is justice. Or perhaps… it is just another lie I tell myself to sleep at night.
​

Serina Calis stood at the viewport of her shuttle, staring out at the skyline of Jutrand. The world stretched beneath her, illuminated by the artificial glow of the cityscape, a stark contrast to the void of hyperspace she had just left behind. It was strange how civilization, with all its towering structures and dazzling lights, could feel so cold, so empty. She had traveled across the galaxy, faced death, power, and revelation, yet the anticipation of this meeting churned inside her like a storm threatening to break.

Quinn.

The name alone sent ice through her veins. It had been a long time since their last true encounter—before Susefvi, before everything unraveled. And yet, her presence still lingered, still haunted her like a specter that refused to be exorcised.

Serina clenched her hands at her sides, nails digging into her palms. Was it guilt? Shame? Or something far uglier?

Quinn had kissed her once.

A moment that had cracked open the rigid walls of Serina's existence, offering her a glimpse of something more—something outside the cold discipline of the New Jedi Order, outside the path she had so desperately tried to forge for herself. For a fleeting moment, she had seen what could have been: freedom, companionship, something warm in the bleakness of duty and expectation.

And she had rejected it.

Not out of wisdom, not out of foresight, but because she had been terrified. Terrified of what it meant to reach for something without absolute control, without certainty.

And now? Now all that was left between them was ruin.

She had killed her.

The memory of Susefvi burned behind her eyes. A battlefield of smoke and shattered bodies, the cries of the dying drowned beneath the chaos of her own actions. Serina hadn't seen Quinn's face when she fell, but she had felt it—had known, in that singular, damning moment, that she was responsible. That she had reached too far, that her ambitions had led to something irreversible.

Except it hadn't been.

Quinn lived. Others had pulled her back, mended her body, given her another chance at life. But she didn't know, could never know, the role Serina had played in that moment.

She inhaled sharply.

Perhaps that was the only thing keeping this meeting from breaking her entirely—that Quinn did not yet see the full extent of her sins.

And yet, beneath the shame, beneath the weight pressing down on her, was another voice.

Maybe she deserved it.

The thought slithered through her mind, venomous and persistent.

Maybe Quinn deserved to suffer. Maybe it was fair.

Serina told herself it was justice. That Quinn had betrayed her first. That she had been the one to dangle the possibility of something more in front of her only to walk away, to leave her alone with nothing but the cold walls of the Jedi Order pressing in. That Quinn had tempted her, had tried to show her something different—and when Serina had turned away, Quinn had left.

Left her to rot in that place, in that life that was never truly hers.

So perhaps it was only right that she had taken something from her in return.

Serina closed her eyes.

No.

That was a lie. A fragile, desperate attempt to shift the blame. To justify her refusal, to shield herself from the truth of what she had done. The truth was that she had hurt Quinn—not just in the past, not just in rejecting her, but in a way that could never be undone.

And now she was here.

She had no plan, no strategy, no well-crafted manipulation to dictate how this meeting would go. Just the weight of her sins pressing against her ribs, just the fear clawing at her throat.

For all her power, for all the control she wielded over others, this moment terrified her.

The shuttle lurched as it entered Jutrand's atmosphere, her destination approaching fast. Serina exhaled, a slow, measured release, as if she could breathe out all the uncertainty, all the pain, all the memories that threatened to consume her.

She couldn't.

But she had come anyway.

Perhaps that was enough.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Serina Calis //:
//: Attire //:

Quinn was expecting her. It was a call that she didn't know would come, nor did she anticipate coming. Serina had always, from her understanding, done things her own way - maybe it came with the turf of being murdered and then resurrected. There was just something different about the girl, and Quinn couldn't fully put her thumb on it. It had come as a surprise seeing her still alive after being told she was dead; it was cruel, and a part of her struggled to forgive.

Though, there was an understanding. The Princess knew she was biased over how things were handled, despite her and Anathemous not being involved beyond sleeping with each other - Quinn cared. Seeing Kaila's emotions swing as they did broke the Echani. She had seen death; she had felt death, but to watch someone go through it especially when they had her heart - was torture. Still, Quinn tried to find it within herself to understand as much as she didn't want to. There was something lost within the wayward Jedi.

A concept that she hated and felt sympathy for hitting too close to home.

As before, Quinn waited at the starport. Instead, no rose or nerves were accompanying the Echani woman. Standing here, waiting for the shuttle, was deja vu, one that she wondered if she could wish to go back to. Back then, life was simple - she was recently estranged from her fiancee and looking to try and adjust to the dating world. It felt like so long ago, and a part of the Princess's heart ached for that time. Maybe she should have pushed harder for Serina to stay on Jutrand. If the blonde had stayed, would things have been different, or would the Grandmaster have burned Jutrand to find the padawan?

These were questions that Quinn had no answers to, but she wished she had. Either way, there was nothing more she could do. There was no changing the past. Silver hair blew gently with the air-conditioned breeze as she waited for the shuttle. Her red dress greatly contrasts her traditional Echani traits, but she wanted to be noticed; even before Serina first came to Jutrand, the Echani Princess wore red.

Everything was too close to how it was before—too bad there wasn't a second chance at the what-if. Quinn sighed gently as she brushed back her ashen hair behind both of her ears. Maybe this had been all her fault—the nerves of the dating world and her desire to take things slow.

If there was one thing she could change, she would have tried to convince the woman to stay on Jutrand - maybe her path would have been different.

The shuttles started to dock, and Quinn waited. This time around, they both knew what each other looked like; there were no surprises.

 

[Serina Calis]

Regrets and Secrets.
Location: Jutrand.
Objective: Find the will to tell the truth.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Quinn Varanin

Guilt is a chain I refuse to wear, yet here I stand, weighed down by it. Perhaps that is justice. Or perhaps… it is just another lie I tell myself to sleep at night.
​

The shuttle door hissed open, and Serina stepped onto Jutrand once more.

The air smelled the same. That artificial crispness of climate-controlled cities, the faint scent of polished stone and carefully cultivated flora. The world had always felt… curated. Not unlike Quinn herself. Everything on Jutrand had its place, its purpose, carefully measured and deliberate.

Serina had once thought she could belong here.

Her boots clicked against the polished floor of the starport, her movements slow, measured. Every step forward felt like stepping across broken glass—painful, deliberate, necessary.

And then she saw her.

Quinn stood in the distance, waiting.

She hadn't changed. The same proud posture, the same silver hair catching the artificial light just so. And, of course, the eye catching dress. Serina had always wondered if it was a challenge, a silent defiance against her Echani heritage, against the expectations that came with it. A woman raised in a culture of precision and restraint, choosing instead to demand attention.

Somewhere, deep down, Serina had always admired that about her.

For a moment, she simply stood there, letting the weight of the moment settle in her chest. This was different from before. The last time they had stood in this starport, Serina had been younger, more uncertain, standing on the edge of something she didn't yet understand.

Back then, she had been anxious.

Now?

Now, there was only exhaustion.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails pressing into her palms. She could already hear the words forming in Quinn's mind—accusations, questions, the weight of everything left unsaid pressing between them.

Quinn didn't know.

Didn't know that Serina had allowed out of ignorance the blow that had taken her life. That had allowed out of arrogance for her body broken to be broken on Susefvi. That she had caused that pain, that suffering, and now stood here with the gall to face her again.

Serina's breath was steady, controlled, but there was a storm raging beneath the surface.

There was shame, raw and unrelenting. A wound that no amount of power, no amount of justification, could mend.

And yet, beneath it, twisted like a knife in her ribs—satisfaction.

Let her hurt.

A voice in the back of her mind, slithering between her thoughts, coiling around her heart like a vice. She left you first. She thought she could show you another way, and when you refused, she walked away. Left you to rot in the Order, to suffer alone. She never knew what it cost you to stay. Never cared.

Serina exhaled slowly, shaking the thought away.

No.

She wouldn't let herself sink into that. That was the easy answer, the comforting lie. The one that she would usually take to crush responsibility like she wished to crush everything.

Quinn hadn't abandoned her. She had simply… lived. Moved on in the way Serina never could.

She forced herself forward.

Step.

Step.

Step.

The distance between them felt vast, despite the short walk.

Quinn was watching her now, standing perfectly still, the only movement the way her fingers absently brushed against the silk of her dress. She had always been impossible to read—Serina never knew if that was a Quinn thing, or just an Echani thing.

And so Serina did what she had always done.

She tried to control the conversation.

She came to a stop a few paces away.

"…Quinn."

Her voice was quiet. Controlled. Empty.

She searched Quinn's face for a reaction, some flicker of emotion—anger, relief, resentment, anything.

Serina swallowed. Her fingers twitched at her side.

"I wasn't sure you would come." A pause. The ghost of a bitter smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Though I suppose you had the advantage this time. You knew I was still breathing."

It wasn't an apology. It wasn't gratitude.

It was just words. Something to fill the space between them, because the silence was unbearable.

Because what could she possibly say?

That she was sorry? That she regretted everything? That she had spent every moment since Susefvi replaying it over and over in her mind, caught between wanting to take it back and wanting to let the guilt consume her whole?

She wasn't sure she could say those words.

Not yet.

So instead, she waited.

Waited for Quinn to break the silence. To demand answers. To lash out.

Waited for whatever came next, knowing that whatever it was, she probably deserved it.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Serina Calis //:
//: Attire //:

"Such an odd thing to say," Quinn quipped as she looked at the shorter blonde. Serina nowadays seemed to have that cryptic way of speaking; it felt like half-truths mixed in with an attempt to lie. Tilting her head slightly, she touched the woman's forehead, "You seem fine, not feverish." Shrugging, she laughed with a pitch of playfulness. "I'll blame the shuttle; it's good to see you though, Serina; it's been some time since you've been to Jutrand," She leaned and whispered as if the next thing she said was a state secret, "Nothing has changed." Leaning back, the air between them carried her perfume's delicate rose and honey fragrance. The floral blend was carefully extracted from the rose garden that Serina experienced the first time on Jutrand.

"I've moved recently," She pointed towards the dark towers a few blocks away. "They're not far, a bit more spacious than my last place. There had been some security issues with the last, but it should be better this time." Ever the Echani, the Princess reached and grasped the other woman's arm, dragging her to walk close. Her touch was brief but slid down from Serina's elbow and forearm, finishing with their fingertips touching. As much as it was just a moment, it told the Echani enough to sense Serina's silent storm.

Quinn knew she should be cautious, but there was nothing truly to fear from anyone. They headed down the sidewalk, a familiar one to the Chandrilian woman. The Princess wasn't going to let a moment pass on, pointing out a familiar memory to the pair. A gentle nudge and a point towards the hidden pathway to the small rose garden. "That's the way to the rose garden. I'm happy it's much closer, but I can't wait to bring Kirie and Kaila. You think they'd like it?" to the Echani; she was talking to a friend who had her romantic favor once but assumed it had fizzled with time. There had been what-ifs and worries, but Quinn, for the most part, had moved on.

"I recently picked a few of the roses; they're back at home. I try and keep some about as much as I can. " Quinn's smile was gentle as her mind trailed to the garden and its inhabitants. It was her sanctuary, a place that only Serina had seen and shared with her.

It didn't take them long to finally arrive at the apartments. The elevator ride mainly consisted of Quinn discussing things with the operator. The pair seemed friendly, but Quinn was always friendly. It was better to win people over with honey than vinegar. They stopped, and the Princess tipped the operator; he tipped his hat and gave the woman a slight bow regarding her title. "Oh, make yourself at home, I'll brew the tea - I think most of the help has left, so I apologize. I wanted us to be alone for the most part." Quinn knew that Kirie would potentially be lurking around if she wasn't at the library with Eira. Either way, the pair would have the place to themselves.

Quinn led Serina into an open kitchen; stools and counter spaces had fruit adorning them. Two cups had been pulled out, and tea bags prepped. The Echani moved about the dark, wooden finished kitchen, still lost as to where things were. She briefly looked at her comm device, sighed exasperated, and then walked to the other side of the large kitchen and pulled out the sugar cubes. "Sorry," she started almost sheepishly, making it evident she was not in the kitchen often. Kirie was the one who made her tea every afternoon and only knew where everything was. Quinn poured the hot water into the cups and steeped the bags; she offered the sugar to Serina and put three cubes in hers.

The Princess had a sweet tooth. "So tell me how your travels went and what you've been up to?" She sipped her tea after pulling the bag out and sighing; it was warm and brewed to the best of her ability, and the sound of the ring tapped against the ceramic as she set the cup down. As the woman held her mug, the light caught a thin silver braided band wrapped around her finger. It was a subtle piece of jewelry with a deeper meaning.

 

[Serina Calis]

Regrets and Secrets.
Location: Jutrand.
Objective: Find the will to tell the truth.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Quinn Varanin

Guilt is a chain I refuse to wear, yet here I stand, weighed down by it. Perhaps that is justice. Or perhaps… it is just another lie I tell myself to sleep at night.
​

Serina followed Quinn through the streets of Jutrand, the scent of roses clinging to the air between them like a ghost.

Nothing had changed.

That was what Quinn had whispered to her, as if it were some kind of reassurance, but Serina wasn't sure she believed it. Because everything had changed.

She had changed.

She was no longer the hesitant Padawan who had stepped foot on this world all those years ago, wide-eyed and uncertain. She was no longer the girl who had looked at Quinn and wondered if there was something more beyond the cold halls of the New Jedi Order. She had burned that version of herself to ash, crushed it beneath the weight of her choices, her failures, her power.

Yet somehow, standing beside Quinn, it felt like none of it had ever happened.

She allowed herself the smallest of indulgences, closing her eyes just for a breath as Quinn's fingers brushed against her arm, gliding down from her elbow to her forearm, lingering just enough to awaken a memory of a time when things were simpler—when a touch from Quinn meant something other than polite familiarity.

The warmth of it was fleeting, disappearing as quickly as it had come.

And then came the dagger.

"That's the way to the rose garden. I'm happy it's much closer, but I can't wait to bring Kirie and Kaila. You think they'd like it?"

Serina's world cracked.

She didn't react—not outwardly. Years of control, of burying everything beneath layers of detachment, kept her face perfectly unreadable. But inside, something broke.

Her breath hitched, just for a second. Her fingers twitched at her side, but she clenched them into a fist before the tremor could betray her.

Kaila.
Kirie.

Serina knew those names. Knew exactly what Quinn was saying without saying it.

That place— their place—was no longer sacred.

It was no longer something that belonged to just them.

The garden where Quinn had kissed her for the first time, where Serina had felt something she couldn't name—something fragile and dangerous and warm—was now just another destination on a tour of memories that didn't belong to her anymore.

She swallowed hard, trying to fight the sudden hollowness in her chest.

She had suspected. Of course, she had. She wasn't blind. Quinn had moved on. She had a life here, people who loved her, people she loved in return. Serina had seen the signs, felt the shift in the way Quinn looked at her, the way she spoke.

But hearing it confirmed?

Hearing Quinn speak of them in that way? Of bringing them to that place?

It was suffocating.

Because Serina had been right.

She had been right about every terrible, ugly thought that had kept her up at night. The voice in the back of her mind that whispered that Quinn had never truly wanted her. That she had been a momentary curiosity, a passing storm, something exciting and fleeting before Quinn moved on to something real.

And she had moved on.

Serina exhaled quietly, forcing herself to stay still as they walked. She let Quinn keep talking, let her voice fill the space between them, because it was easier that way. Easier to let Quinn's words wash over her than to let the silence reveal the cracks forming beneath her surface.

She barely heard the rest.

Not the words about the roses, not the details about the new apartment, not even the familiar warmth of Quinn's presence beside her.

She was drowning in the weight of it.

The weight of knowing, truly knowing, that there had never been a version of this story where she had been enough.

The elevator ride was a blur. Serina barely registered the exchange between Quinn and the operator, the way Quinn charmed her way through every interaction with the same effortless grace she always had.

She could still hear it, that voice in her head, whispering with quiet finality:

You were never meant to be part of her world.

And now, she knew it was true.

By the time they reached the apartment, Serina had become nothing more than a ghost in Quinn's shadow. She moved on autopilot, let Quinn lead her inside, let herself be surrounded by the warmth of the space Quinn had made into a home.

A home that would never be hers.

She watched as Quinn moved about the kitchen, as if nothing had changed, as if she didn't even notice the way Serina's hands had gone stiff, the way her breathing had slowed to measured, deliberate inhales and exhales.

Quinn had always been kind.

That was the worst part.

She had always been kind, always gentle, always careful with Serina in a way that made it so much worse. Because it meant that Quinn had never intended to hurt her.

Which meant that all of this—this pain, this emptiness clawing at her ribs—was Serina's fault.

Her gaze flickered downward, catching the glint of silver as Quinn set her cup down.

A ring.

Simple, braided, elegant. Something meant to mean something.

Another confirmation. Another weight pressing down on her.

She felt something in her chest twist so violently it almost made her physically ill.

"So tell me how your travels went and what you've been up to?"

Serina could barely force herself to look at Quinn.

There was no point in telling her the truth. No point in talking about the things she had done, the things she had lost. No point in talking about how every step she had taken since leaving the Order had led her deeper into something she couldn't control.

No point in telling her about the ghosts that followed her, about the power that burned inside her like a sickness, about the fact that she had facilitated them to kill her, kill her, and Quinn didn't even know.

She could lie. She could make it sound like she had been fine, like her life had been nothing but adventure and discovery, like she wasn't standing here now barely holding herself together.

But she didn't have the strength. Not anymore.

Instead, she set her cup down with quiet finality and met Quinn's gaze, voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't bring them there."

"To the garden." Serina's voice was hoarse, uneven. Unbearably raw. "Don't ever bring anyone to that place."

The words felt like a wound being reopened, like she was laying herself bare in a way she had never intended.

She should stop there.

She should leave it at that, let it be enough, let Quinn assume whatever she wanted.

But the words wouldn't stop.

They clawed their way out of her, hollow and raw, barely more than a whisper yet heavier than any burden Serina had ever carried.

"Tell me, Quinn… will there ever be a time for us?"

The question cut through the space between them, a quiet and terrible thing, unraveling Serina in ways she had spent years trying to avoid.

She had never let herself ask it before—not aloud, not even in the quiet corners of her mind. She had buried it beneath anger, beneath shame, beneath the thousand justifications she had crafted to convince herself that it didn't matter. That she didn't care. That she had walked away first.

But standing here, in the warmth of Quinn's home, in the presence of the one person who had ever made her feel like she could be more than what she was told to be, she couldn't pretend anymore.

She was exhausted.

Tired of lying to herself, tired of pretending that it didn't hurt, tired of acting like she wasn't still trapped in the moment Quinn had kissed her in that garden, in the quiet weight of what could have been.

And the worst part?

The worst part was that she already knew the answer.

She had known it the moment Quinn had spoken so easily, so thoughtlessly, about bringing Kirie and Kaila to their place.

Quinn had moved on.

Quinn had left the garden behind, let time erode whatever meaning it once held, let it become just another beautiful place to be shared.

Serina hadn't.

She had held onto it, carried it with her like a scar that would never fade, let it fester into something ugly and desperate and hers. She had spent years wondering if she had made the right choice, if she had been a fool for walking away, if she had abandoned something that could have saved her from the ruin she had become.

And Quinn?

Quinn hadn't even considered that it might still matter.

It felt like suffocating.

Like drowning in something slow and inescapable, like feeling the weight of a thousand unsaid things pressing against her ribs, crushing her breath.

For all her power, for all her control, Serina had never felt so small.

Because if Quinn had loved her—truly, deeply, in the way Serina had feared and longed for—then she wouldn't have spoken of the garden so easily.

If there had been a time for them, Quinn wouldn't have let it go so easily.

And yet, some part of her still needed to hear it.

To hear it from Quinn's lips, to let it rip through her completely, to end this.

To put to death whatever foolish, lingering hope she had carried with her for far too long.

Her fingers curled against the countertop, the cool surface grounding her, keeping her from shattering entirely. She forced herself to meet Quinn's eyes, blue searching silver, waiting.

Waiting for Quinn to tell her the truth.

Waiting for Quinn to tell her no.

To let Serina break completely so she could finally...

Finally let go...

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Serina Calis //:

//: Attire //:​

//: Jutrand //:

Quinn did her best to ignore the tiny facial twitches and the muscle tension Serina exhibited on the way over. She had hoped it was just nerves about returning to Jutrand after everything that had happened. The conversation on the Second Legion command ship and then on Rakata Prime. There was a lot to unpack, but Quinn wanted to forgive the woman - thinking it was just the fear of what she was going through. Like Serina, she had felt trapped by something she had never asked for.

Like Serina, there was something inside of her, but it seemed whatever it was - was the master. Quinn had been lucky enough to have powerful parents to guide and teach her how to control the terrible things that allowed her to live. At times, she wished they didn't - without it, she would be free, but her life wouldn't have existed.

She smiled softly as Serina sat stiffly and avoided her gaze. The girl had so much turmoil that it didn't take her empathy to tell her. Quinn didn't react the moment Serina chose to speak.

Quinn was surprised not to hear that Serina wanted to keep a sacred place they shared. If either Kirie or Kaila had been where Serina sat, she figured they might have been the same about its holy meaning. Reaching out, Quinn attempted to grasp the woman's armored hand. Her voice was quiet and as soothing as she could, "I won't." the princess smiled softly. "It will remain ours and only ours." A part of Quinn was saddened by this promise, but a part of her cared for the woman sitting in front of her.

She figured that was all that Serina had wanted, but there was more, and it took Quinn slightly by surprise. The sentence hung in Echani's mind; she couldn't fully wrap her brain around its meaning. Quinn smiled as she leaned back slightly, brushing her stray ashen locks behind her ears. Her lips pressed together as her gaze looked to her tea. "An us," she started, hoping she wouldn't say the wrong thing or that the truth would be too much. "Serina, I'm always here for you - I worried about you after you left Jutrand. I looked for you, but I didn't know much beyond your profile. I am sorry I couldn't protect you; I should have." Quinn felt guilty when she heard that Serina had died; her anger at Rakata Prime was the manifestation of that guilt.

But time had allowed her to accept the mistakes she made. "An us? I don't quite fully understand what you mean by that. I consider you a friend, someone I'd like to see more of - so I was exhilarated to hear from you. You'll have me for as long as you wish to." Quinn smiled as she softly ran her knuckles against the sharp armor, a stark difference from Serina's soft skin Quinn had caressed in the rose garden.

"The rose garden is ours, I promise." ​

 

[Serina Calis]

Regrets and Secrets.
Location: Jutrand.
Objective: Find the will to tell the truth.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Quinn Varanin

Guilt is a chain I refuse to wear, yet here I stand, weighed down by it. Perhaps that is justice. Or perhaps… it is just another lie I tell myself to sleep at night.​

Serina sat motionless, her tea untouched, her body frozen in place as Quinn's words settled deep into her bones like a slow, creeping poison.

"An us? I don't quite fully understand what you mean by that."

She heard the words, she understood them, but her mind refused to accept them.

Serina had spent years avoiding this exact moment. She had convinced herself that it was better not to ask, better to let the past remain as a half-formed mystery, because if she never knew the truth, then the possibility still existed. As long as the question went unspoken, she could still pretend—pretend that, maybe, Quinn had once felt the same way. Pretend that the garden had meant more than just a passing moment of tenderness. Pretend that she had mattered.

But now, here in the warmth of Quinn's home, in the presence of the only person who had ever made her question herself, the illusion was shattered.

Quinn smiled at her, oblivious to the slow, silent breaking happening right in front of her.

"I consider you a friend, someone I'd like to see more of—so I was exhilarated to hear from you. You'll have me for as long as you wish to."

Serina nearly flinched at the words. Friend.

Not once, not for a single moment in all the years since she had left Jutrand, had she ever thought of Quinn as just a friend. But that was all she had ever been to Quinn, wasn't it? A companion, a passing curiosity, someone to be concerned about in a vague, distant way—but never someone to be chosen. Never someone to be fought for.

And the worst part?

The worst part was that Quinn truly believed she was offering comfort.

Serina had spent so long living in the depths of her own mind, where power and pain wove together so seamlessly that she could no longer tell where one ended and the other began. But Quinn had never been like that. Quinn didn't see the world the way Serina did.

Quinn was kind.

And kindness could be cruel.

"I'm always here for you."

No, you're not, Serina wanted to say. Not in the way I needed. Not in the way that mattered.

But she didn't say it.

She couldn't.

Because she had no right to.

She had been the one to walk away, hadn't she? She had been the one to choose duty over Quinn, the one to bury herself in the teachings of the Jedi, the one who had refused to take the risk, refused to reach for something she couldn't control.

She had hidden herself from the galaxy, worried about the Jedi once she had fallen.

She was on Susefvi.

And Quinn had moved on.

As she should have.

As anyone would have.

Serina's hands curled into fists beneath the table, but she forced her expression to remain calm, controlled. She had spent years mastering that particular art—masking the storm beneath the surface.

Her gaze flickered briefly to Quinn's hands as she lifted her tea.

That's when she saw it again.

A ring.

Silver, braided, delicate.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It wasn't just a ring.

It was a symbol. A marker of something Serina had no place in. A reminder that Quinn's life had continued without her, that whatever moment they had once shared had long since faded into nothing but a distant memory.

Serina had clung to the past like a fool. She had let it fester, let it shape her, let it become something greater than it ever was.

Quinn had simply moved on.

The ache in her chest grew unbearable, but she did not let it show.

Instead, she exhaled softly, barely above a whisper, and withdrew her hand from where Quinn's knuckles had brushed against her armor. The touch had been gentle, but it no longer belonged to her.

"I see."

The words were quiet, hollow, lacking the raw edge of emotion that threatened to break free inside her. She was too well-trained for that.

Too good at burying her own pain beneath layers of control.

She lifted her tea, taking a slow, measured sip, as if she wasn't suffocating beneath the weight of her own realization. The warmth did nothing to thaw the cold settling in her veins.

"I appreciate your promise," she said finally, setting the cup back down. "And I appreciate your honesty."

Lies.

Not the words themselves, but the way she said them, the way she twisted her voice into something distant, detached, as if this was just another polite exchange, just another conversation between acquaintances.

But Quinn had no idea what had just happened.

No idea that Serina was breaking apart in real time.

No idea that every moment, every breath, every second spent in this room was suffocating her, pressing in on her, making her feel like she was drowning in something she couldn't escape.

The silence stretched between them, and for a brief, fleeting second, Serina considered telling her the truth.

That she had never stopped thinking about her. That she had spent years replaying every interaction, every fleeting touch, every moment of hesitation. That the garden had never just been a place to her—it had been the place. The only place where she had ever felt like something more than a pawn in someone else's game.

The only place she had felt love.

That Quinn had been the first person to make her consider that maybe, just maybe, there was another path.

But none of it mattered.

Because Quinn had made her choice.

Because there had never been a time for them.

Not really.

And Serina?

She was tired of holding onto something that had never been hers to begin with.

She rose from her chair, moving slowly, deliberately, as if she weren't unraveling beneath the surface. Her movements were calculated, every step precise, every breath measured.

"I should go."

Her voice was steady, betraying nothing.

Serina offered a small, almost apologetic smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I have a meeting soon. I wish I could stay longer, but… duty calls."

This time, it wasn't a lie.

There was another meeting waiting for her. Another task, another step in the life she had chosen. To finally meet the Butcher King himself, Darth Carnifex .

A life that had no place for love.

She reached for her cup, fingers wrapping around the ceramic as if it might somehow anchor her, as if it might keep her from shattering entirely.

"Thank you for the tea."

A simple phrase. Polite. Empty.

She turned to leave, and for the first time since she had arrived, she did not look back.

Because there was nothing left to see.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Serina Calis //:
//: Attire //:
//: Jutrand //:

It was unfortunate for Serina that despite her quiet and hidden mind, Quinn was also respectful of personal autonomy, but the Princess was an Echani. The storm she so desperately tried to hide bled through every muscle twitch and flex. Everything told Quinn what she needed to know about what was happening with the young blonde woman.

Whatever grip this IT had on her blinded her from the people around her. Quinn was tired of her kindness being tainted by self-depreciation and self-inflicted isolation. Serina told her more in her attempts to hide her genuine emotions. Why would she do that? Was it more painful to face them, or was she trying to protect Quinn from something?

Serina stood, explaining, running away again. "No." Quinn's voice was still soft and caring, but it was hurt. Reaching out, the Echani was fast, and she caught the guarded wrist of the smaller woman. Without hesitation, Quinn pulled Serina, spinning her towards her into a tight and, as much as she could, a warm hug. A hand rested behind her head as the embrace fully encompassed Serina Calis.

Quinn would never fully understand running and the constant need to push people away, but she was tired of being a victim. "Don't you dare," the Princess whispered sharply through the embrace. They once had potential, a potential that Quinn had mourned; she had mourned her death, but it seemed Serina refused to see beyond the tip of her nose. "Don't you dare walk out my door, claiming duty is what makes you want to push me away," Hands clenched through the frustration, gripping whatever she could from the woman.

"I mourned you; I wanted what you wanted - but finding you died, I mourned what never was. I wish you didn't hide what you did or what happened. I wish you had just called and trusted me to help you." Quinn gripped the woman tighter with each word as she gently shook the woman, trying to add emphasis. If only she could break through the hard shell that Serina wore.

​

"Don't you dare leave here thinking I didn't try; don't you dare leave here thinking that I don't care." Her voice continued to be a sharp whisper as she sucked in the air, trying to not let her own emotions spill. She loosened her hold, knowing that she couldn't keep Serina nearly suffocating against her. As she released the woman, Quinn looked at the floor, letting her crown of flaxen-colored hair hang over her features.

"I promised to keep our place, OUR place; why isn't that enough? Why do you get to be upset with me? When I did try, I did wait, so don't leave here thinking I didn't," Quinn continued to fight back her tears, fists clenched, holding on to the silken red dress for support. "If you want nothing to do with me - why do you ask that I keep OUR place ours? Is that my punishment because I cannot give you myself? That I can't belong to you?"

Serina was like everyone else; to her, Quinn was only something to obtain and own. What made Quinn, Quinn, didn't matter. She was only a trophy, a prize to own - to never cherish.

Her voice grew smaller, and the facade of the confident Princess who feared nothing, not even death, broke, leaving only the sad little girl who was often thrown away—never good enough for someone to hold on to.

"It's not fair."​

 

[Serina Calis]

Regrets and Secrets.
Location: Jutrand.
Objective: Find the will to tell the truth.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Quinn Varanin

Guilt is a chain I refuse to wear, yet here I stand, weighed down by it. Perhaps that is justice. Or perhaps… it is just another lie I tell myself to sleep at night.​

Serina had been ready to leave. She had accepted it, swallowed the ache, buried it beneath the cold, practiced detachment she had perfected over the years. It was better this way. It had to be. But then Quinn's voice stopped her.

"No."

Soft. Gentle. But filled with something sharp beneath it.

And then, before Serina could react, before she could slip away like a ghost in the night, Quinn's hand caught her wrist. The Echani was fast—Serina had always known that—but she had not expected Quinn to reach for her, had not expected the sudden pull, the forceful spin, and certainly not the warmth of arms wrapping around her, drawing her in before she could protest.

Serina tensed. Every instinct screamed at her to pull away, to run, to break free before this became something she couldn't control. But Quinn held her tightly, arms wound around her like she was trying to physically keep Serina from slipping away. And Serina didn't fight her. She couldn't. Because the moment Quinn's hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through blonde strands with quiet desperation, Serina realized something she had not allowed herself to acknowledge until now.

She had wanted this.

She had always wanted this.

She had spent years convincing herself otherwise, twisting her longing into resentment, shaping it into something ugly and bitter so that it wouldn't break her. But this? This warmth, this hold, this ache?

It was the truth.

Serina's hands hovered in the air for a moment before finally, slowly, coming to rest against Quinn's back. Her fingers barely gripped the fabric of her dress, as if afraid that if she held too tightly, Quinn would slip through her grasp entirely. The tension in her shoulders did not ease, and she did not allow herself to sink into the embrace, but she let Quinn hold her.

"Don't you dare," Quinn whispered, and Serina's breath hitched.

She knew this tone. She had heard it in battles, in tense negotiations, in moments when Quinn stood unwavering, unafraid. But this was different. This was not the voice of the unshakable Princess, the confident Echani warrior who had always seemed untouchable.

This was raw. Wounded.

"Don't you dare walk out my door, claiming duty is what makes you want to push me away."

Serina's throat tightened as Quinn's fingers clenched against her.

"I mourned you. I wanted what you wanted—but finding you dead, I mourned what never was. I wish you didn't hide what you did or what happened. I wish you had just called and trusted me to help you."

Quinn shook her then, as if trying to shake the truth out of her, as if trying to break past the layers of ice Serina had wrapped around herself.

Serina had nothing to say.

Because Quinn was right.

She had hidden. She had pushed Quinn away, had buried herself so deeply in her own suffering that she had refused to let Quinn in. And yet… and yet, hadn't she done that because she had believed, deep down, that it was better this way?

Quinn had her life.

A life Serina could never be part of.

A life Serina should never be part of.

"Don't you dare leave here thinking I didn't try; don't you dare leave here thinking that I don't care."

Serina could hear the way Quinn's breath hitched, the way she was fighting against her own emotions, trying not to let them spill out.

Quinn was the strongest person she had ever known.

But this?

This was vulnerability.

This was the truth Serina had refused to see.

The embrace loosened slightly, Quinn's arms falling away, leaving only cold air where warmth had been. And for the first time, Serina saw her—not the Princess, not the woman who had moved on, not the untouchable force of nature that Serina had convinced herself was beyond her reach.

She saw Quinn.

A woman who had been abandoned. A woman who had been left behind time and time again. A woman who had mourned for something she had never even had the chance to grasp.

"I promised to keep our place, OUR place; why isn't that enough? Why do you get to be upset with me? When I did try, I did wait, so don't leave here thinking I didn't."

Quinn's voice cracked, and Serina felt her chest cave in.

"If you want nothing to do with me—why do you ask that I keep OUR place ours? Is that my punishment because I cannot give you myself? That I can't belong to you?"

Serina inhaled sharply.

Because there it was.

Because Quinn finally understood.

And yet, she didn't. Not really.

Serina had never wanted to own Quinn. Not then.

But now?

Now, she knew the truth, the thing she could never say aloud.

Maybe there had been a time when she could have simply accepted Quinn's love, could have simply been with her. Maybe there had been a version of herself that could have taken Quinn's hand and stepped into the light.

But that version of Serina still had a beating heart.

And what had taken her place was something else.

Because she did not just want Quinn anymore.

She wanted to own her.

She wanted to carve herself into Quinn's very being, to leave a mark so deep that no one—not Kaila, not Kirie, not anyone—could ever take her place.

She wanted Quinn to ache for her, to yearn for her the way Serina had yearned in silence for so long.

And she would never have that.

Because Quinn was not hers.

Because Quinn had never been hers.

Because Quinn would never be chained to anyone, and that was what made her so utterly, devastatingly beautiful.

Serina clenched her jaw, swallowing every monstrous, selfish thought that threatened to escape.

"It's not fair."

Quinn's voice was so small now, so quiet. It was the voice of the girl that Quinn had only heard on Jutrand once before.

And Serina finally broke.

She stepped forward, hesitantly at first, but then faster, closing the distance between them. Her arms wrapped around Quinn, pulling her in just as tightly as Quinn had pulled her.

For the first time, Serina held her without hesitation, without fear, without doubt.

"I know," she whispered, voice barely above a breath. "I know it's not fair."

Her fingers tangled in Quinn's hair, her lips pressing into the crown of her head, a touch so light, so reverent, that it almost wasn't real.

"You were never a prize to me," Serina whispered, voice raw. "I swear to you, you were never something to win. You were the first person who made me want to stay. The first person who ever made me think there was something more for me."

Serina held her tighter.

"I didn't call because I didn't want to hurt you. Because I knew what I had become."

Her fingers dug into the fabric of Quinn's dress.

"And now?"

She swallowed hard.

"Now, I still don't want to hurt you."

Serina exhaled, closing her eyes as she leaned her forehead against Quinn's.

"But I will."

Her voice was so quiet, so broken.

"I will, Quinn. Because that's what I do now. That's all I know how to do. So tell me, tell me how I'm supposed to stay when all I can offer you is something that will only ruin you?"

The silence stretched between them.

Serina's hands trembled as they cupped Quinn's face, as she brushed away a tear with her thumb.

"You want me to stay?" she whispered. "Then tell me how. Because I cannot be anything but this anymore."

And that was the truth.

She still wanted Quinn.

More than anything.

But Serina had changed.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Serina Calis //:
//: Attire //:
//: Jutrand //:

Serina returned her hug. There was a hope that swelled in the Echani's chest, feeling the sudden return. Serina was still there, the woman she had met on Jutrand, taken to one of her most sacred sanctuaries and welcomed her home. Though the returned hug felt different, she felt more like the old Serina. It was an odd comfort, and Quinn wanted this to be okay.

There was a gentleness that Quinn didn't pick up on during the initial talk. It was as if something else was controlling the woman. Yet, now, even the tender kiss on her head was something more natural for the blonde. Quinn tried to understand why things felt different - was she mind-controlled, or was it something else? Quinn wrapped her arms around Serina and accepted the comfort; it seemed she had gotten through to the girl.

All her words soothed the pain, and she found herself happy that Serina never saw her as so many before had. Quinn found her own defenses lower, letting Serina back in, but that was short-lived.

It came back.

Serina no longer felt like the same Serina. Still, Quinn held on, wanting everything to be back to how it was. Quinn sensed the change and pulled back slightly, looking over the woman's face. She pulled away from the hug as she wrapped her arms around her lithe frame, trying to comfort herself. The feeling of the shift felt unnatural, and Quinn tried to figure out why she had never noticed the shifts.

Quinn couldn't think about it for too long. Serina had commanded her attention, and she looked towards the woman. Her hands cupped the Echani's face, the foreign touch she hadn't noticed seeping through the blonde's hands. The cryptic speech only confused Echani further. Serina didn't make sense. Why did she keep saying that she would hurt her? That was something she always did.

"What do you mean?" she questioned, none of it made sense. "You won't hurt me; I know you care; we're friends." Quinn smiled and covered Serina's hands, holding them gently as she slid them off her face. "Serina, I trust you; I know we've had a bumpy start - but I know deep down you wouldn't hurt me." Quinn nodded, "I do want you to stay, and I want you to stay how you wish to stay - however makes you comfortable. Because that's important to me."

Quinn pulled Serina into a hug again, hoping to feel the Serina she had felt only moments prior. "Don't worry about me. I trust you. I know you won't hurt me, and everything has been a misunderstanding."

 

[Serina Calis]

Regrets and Secrets.
Location: Jutrand.
Objective: Find the will to tell the truth.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Quinn Varanin

Guilt is a chain I refuse to wear, yet here I stand, weighed down by it. Perhaps that is justice. Or perhaps… it is just another lie I tell myself to sleep at night.​

Serina had let herself believe—just for a moment—that this could be real. That the warmth of Quinn's arms around her could be something she could hold onto. That she could stay like this, caught in the impossible illusion that things between them had not already shattered beyond repair.

But Quinn didn't understand.

Quinn didn't know.

And that made all of this so much worse.

Serina's breath was slow, controlled, her eyes half-lidded as she stared at the woman who had just unknowingly asked for her greatest betrayal to be exposed. Quinn still believed she was good. Quinn still believed she could trust her.

And Serina couldn't allow that.

She exhaled softly, letting her arms slide from around Quinn's back, withdrawing from the embrace just enough to put distance between them. She was still close enough to feel Quinn's warmth, but far enough that when she spoke, she would be seen for what she was.

"No, Quinn."

Her voice was quiet, but it did not waver.

"You don't understand."

Her hands fell away, slipping from Quinn's grasp as if the weight of what she was about to say had physically severed them.

"I was there, Quinn."

She saw the confusion flicker in Quinn's silver eyes, saw the way she furrowed her brows slightly, unsure of what she meant. But Serina did not wait for her to ask.

"Susefvi."

The word alone was enough to freeze the air between them.

Serina felt the tension build, but she forced herself to keep going.

"I helped fund the rebellion."

She said it plainly, without embellishment, without hiding behind cryptic words or careful half-truths. She let it sink in, let Quinn process the reality of what she was saying.

"I funneled credits, weapons, and ships to them. I used every contact I had, pulled every string I could. It wasn't about you—it wasn't even about the rebellion itself. I wanted the smuggling lanes open. The Sith distracted. I thought I was playing a game with pieces I understood."

She swallowed hard, a quiet breath slipping past her lips before she continued.

"But I didn't know."

Her voice dropped, and her hands clenched into fists.

"I didn't know what they were planning. I didn't know about you."

Serina lifted her gaze, locking eyes with Quinn now, no longer looking away, no longer shielding herself from the weight of this moment.

"When I found out, it was too late. They had already taken you. Already set everything in motion. And I—"

She stopped herself before she could say I was too weak to stop them.

But it was the truth.

"I tried."

The words were bitter in her mouth, because trying had not been enough.

"I went to the command bunker myself. I cut through every single one of them. I didn't leave a single one breathing. I burned them. I tore them apart with my saber, with my hands, with the Force, with everything I had. I made sure none of them would ever touch you again."

Her fingers twitched slightly, her nails digging into her palms.

"But I was too late."

The words fell from her lips like a death sentence.

"The city was already devoured. I couldn't get to you in time. I tried—I tried—but it was over before I could even reach you."

She inhaled sharply, trying to suppress the tremor in her voice, trying not to let it sound as broken as she felt.

"So I took the only thing I could salvage from the wreckage."

She let the silence stretch for a beat too long before she continued.

"I took the one who gave the order. The one who led the rebellion. The one who dealt with you personally."

Her expression didn't change, but her voice did. There was something different now—something colder, something darker, something Quinn had never heard from her before.

Something so evil and primal that it would of shocked her to hear it come out of Serina's mouth.

"I have him."

Another pause.

"And I have not been kind."

She let the weight of those words settle, let them fill the air between them like the scent of blood on durasteel.

"Every single day since Susefvi, I have reminded him of what he did. Every single day, I have made him understand what it means to take something from me."

She exhaled slowly, her voice a low whisper now.

"I have broken him in ways I cannot describe. And I do not regret it."

Her gaze remained locked onto Quinn's, unflinching, unwavering, waiting for the reality of it to sink in.

"You say I won't hurt you, Quinn. That I can't hurt you."

Her voice grew quieter, but the intensity behind it did not fade.

"But I already have."

She let that truth settle between them, waiting for it to consume whatever remained of them both.