Private The Murk Within

[Roman Vossari]

Tags: Corazona von Ascania

​

The polished durasteel of the Jedi Temple office gleamed under the soft illumination, reflecting Roman's troubled face. He was a storm brewing beneath the surface. Master Cora was still occupied with her lesson, her voice a calm current against the tempest raging within him. Roman's eyes, usually bright and earnest, now held a haunted quality, flitting from one object to another, unable to settle. He felt like a trespasser in this serene space, his presence polluting the air with the darkness that clung to him like a second skin.

His thoughts were a tangled web of guilt, fear, and a simmering rage, a constant reminder of the gilded cage that awaited him. "Home." his father called it. A fortress of misery and ambition, where family ties were forged in manipulation and duty was a shackle. The encrypted messages, laced with veiled threats and emotional blackmail, were a constant, gnawing pressure. "Your mother needs you, Roman. The House needs you. Come home."

He clenched his fists, stifling a groan. How could he explain this to Cora? How could he expose the festering rot beneath his carefully constructed Jedi facade? He pictured her serene face, now lined with concern as she noticed his increasing distance. The thought only deepened the knot in his stomach. He was betraying her trust, betraying the Order's ideals.

Images flashed across his mind, unbidden and unwelcome. His siblings, their laughter echoing in the empty halls of his memory, their faces dissolving into swirling smoke. Then his father, his eyes burning with cold calculation, extending a hand that promised power but reeked of control.

Hapes. The Mandalorian. The memory surged to the forefront of his mind. The brutal snap of a neck, the decisive end of a life. No hesitation, no remorse. Just…efficiency. A chilling solution to a desperate problem. The image haunted him, a dark whisper promising a swift end to his own agonizing conflict.

His jaw tightened. The Jedi path demanded restraint, compassion, balance. But his thoughts had grown darker as of late.

He now knew he was sent here with a purpose, to learn to be some puppet Jedi for his father to weild at his whim. The time was soon where he must be collected and his real purpose would be revealed.

His gaze fell to the floor, tracing the intricate patterns of the tiling. He was drowning in a sea of conflicting loyalties, a prisoner in a war he didn't choose. Perhaps… perhaps if he confessed his darkest thoughts, his simmering resentment, his terrifying fascination with the Mandalorian's actions, Cora would reject him. Maybe being cast out, deemed unworthy, would be a release.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

The lesson had ended with a firm reminder to turn in assignments when due. While exceptions were always made for extenuating circumstances - missions and injuries among them - there were one or two Padawans focused on the rigor of their lightsaber practice, leaving their academics to the wayside.

"Roman?"

He was, in her view, the perfect student. Padawan Vossari had come to her later in his training with a good head on his shoulders, and respect for both the martial and diplomatic aspects of Jedihood. Though he'd had his own share of troubles in his private life, he seemed to be flourishing on Coruscant.

Only, there'd been a lingering gloom around him lately. She'd felt it during the debacle on Hapes, then again during Aadihr's healing lesson. Cora couldn't quite describe it, and she'd been hesitant to approach Roman about it. What if something wasn’t wrong, and she'd made him worry for nothing.

Worse, what if something was wrong? What if she couldn't help him?

The concerns she'd sidelined coalesced into the image before her. A bright young man, his aura dim and downcast, tense with uncertainty. Her heart lurched into her stomach.

"I'll make us some tea," she said softly. Quick to place the stack of tomes atop her immaculately arranged desk, Cora moved over to the counter. Water from a jug was poured into a kettle, which sat atop a portable burner. Though she much preferred loose leaf tea, she stored sachets in the cabinet above. Less messy, she felt.

Roman was free to pick out whichever blend he liked.

"What can I do for you?"

Roman Vossari

 

[Roman Vossari]

Tags: Corazona von Ascania

​

Roman rose to follow his Master, his hand instinctively reaching for the small bags of tea blend tucked away in the overhead cabinet. He'd never been much of a tea drinker before, but in his time training under her had changed that. He'd developed a fondness for the ritual, a comforting warmth that always reminded him of their first tea on Ukatis, a cherished memory of their early days together.

He selected a random herbal blend and placed it on the counter beside her, then mischievously deposited the container of sachets on the highest shelf of the cabinet. A small smile flickered across his face in the dimly lit room. He liked to imagine her reaching, struggling to grab them when he wasn't around. It was a small, harmless prank that brought him some measure of comfort.

He retrieved two mugs from another cabinet, his movements slow as he wrestled with the words he wanted to say. "I... I haven't been feeling like myself lately." he finally mumbled as he took a seat. He picked up a small, intricate knick-knack from her desk, his fingers nervously tracing its contours as anxiety gnawed at him.

"I feel lost. I feel angry..." he confessed, his gaze fixed on the object in his hands.

He took a shaky breath. "My father... he's demanding I return to the Outer Rim soon. I don't know if I can say no." He brought up his datapad, his fingers trembling as he swiped to display a message to her. The words were cold, demanding Roman's return to serve his father. The unspoken threat of his mother's well-being hung heavy in the air, a weapon wielded with calculated precision.

Even as Roman's blue eyes flicked over the message again, a surge of overwhelming anger threatened to consume him. He could almost see himself snapping his father's neck, a brutal image inspired by the Mandalorian he'd witnessed on Hapes. The thought, raw and violent, both terrified and momentarily satisfied him. He knew that succumbing to such rage was a path to darkness, but the injustice of his situation, the manipulation and the threat, made it hard to resist.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora noted where the box of tea was placed, one corner of her lips twitching in a stifled smile. Despite his troubles, Roman was still Roman.

She fiddled with the burner as he spoke, letting his words wash over her.

Lost. Angry. My father…

A spark leapt from the electric burner. Cora's narrowed gaze gave way to wide eyes and a brief shake of her head as if to say, this thing is on the fritz, again.

Concern deepens the gentle creases of her expression as Cora took the datapad. She scanned the terse message from his father several times over, as if she could derive anything more from his cold, commanding tone.

"I see," she said softly, handing the device back to Roman. "I would feel angry if I received a message from my father like that, too."

Behind her, the water began to boil, roiling lowly within the kettle. Cora folded her arms over her chest, brow scrunched slightly as she regarded Roman with careful concern.

"What are you thinking of doing, Roman?"

Roman Vossari

 

[Roman Vossari]

Tags: Corazona von Ascania

​

Roman watched Cora's brow furrow as she examined the message on the datapad. He needed to get her a new burner, he thought absently. This one was constantly malfunctioning. Maybe as part of her wedding gifts. He still technically had access to his family's vast resources, even if his father was trying to control him. Might as well use them while he could, and ensuring Cora everything she wanted for her new marriage was paramount.

He fumbled with the trinket, nearly dropping it in his mounting frustration. When she finally looked up, her eyes full of concern, and asked what he was going to do, the words caught in his throat. He looked around the office, a space that had become a sanctuary.

"I...I don't know." he finally admitted.

He balled his hands into fists. "He'll come. He'll come for me soon. Maybe... maybe I can force him to see reason. Force him to just leave me alone." His voice grew louder, laced with a desperate hope that he knew was probably futile. "What can he really do to me anyway? Surely I could stop him before he could hurt me or my mother." His hand drifted towards the hilt of his lightsaber, a familiar weight that offered a false sense of security.

Then, he fumbled on the next question, remembering how difficult it was to dredge up her past. He hesitated, his voice softening. "How... how did you handle your father, Cora? Did... did darkness call to you too, when you thought of him?" The question hung in the air, heavy with his own fear and a genuine desire to understand how she had navigated such darkness and emerged whole, emerged as this shining beacon of a Jedi.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora's eyes followed the motion of Roman's hand as it shifted towards the saber hilt at his belt.

The anger and desperation in his voice, coupled with the way he held his body in tension spoke of pain. Roman had been hurt - had been hurting, slowly, for years. Their conversations had filled her in on the bigger picture of the environment he'd been raised in, but not these insidious little details.

It yanked at her heartstrings. Though he was her student, she'd come to care for Roman as if he were another brother. When he asked how she'd handled her own father, her expression blanked in surprise. Cora turned her attention towards the kettle.

"I did whatever he asked of me for…well, for quite a long time. It took…I gave in to…"

Her fingers pressed against the handle of the kettle, listening to the water roil even louder from the increased pressure against the burner. Hesitation pursed her expression. How could she admit such things to Roman? It wasn't even about her reputation for being prim and proper, not that much. Cora wasn't certain that her own experiences would help him.

"All the time," she whispered. "It called to me all the time. It was at its loudest just after my marriage. I'd like to think that I didn't give in during because my wedding ring - made from a voidstone composite - kept me from feeling much of the Force at all."

She removed her hand from the kettle with a sigh. Then, she inhaled sharply. After a few second of holding her breath, Cora exhaled loudly.

A wave of her hand, and the door to her office closed.

"During my marriage, a Sith Lord tried to seduce me. I was lonely and scared and desperate to feel love. Shortly after I rejoined the Jedi, I was captured by the Sith and brought to him. I was eventually given the option to leave, but…"

Cora took a darting glance at Roman's distorted reflection in the kettle.

"I didn't take it. Not right away. I was conflicted, so I wavered, because in the few times I'd utilized the Dark, I felt…strong. But that strength felt hollow. It was like…"

Her eyes rolled upward in search of an analogy that would make sense.

"…biting into a perfect red apple that's gone rotten beneath the skin."

True Darksiders would probably island that she'd done it incorrectly. That maybe she needed to shift her perspective, or practice their ways for longer. Cora shook her head.

"In the end, I left because Ukatis was under attack. I stood up to my father then, not because I'd gained the power of the Dark, but because I was tired of powerful men telling me what to do."

The kettle began to whistle, and her story ended there. Cora twisted the nob and removed the kettle from the burner. Carefully, she filled both of their mugs with boiling water.

"I'm sorry, that was quite a lot to lay on you. It took me a while to find my way back - just ask Valery or Kahlil."

She offered Roman a brief, tight smile as she slid his mug over. That expression dropped into something more grave.

"Do you believe your mother to be in danger?"

Roman Vossari