Darkness had taken her. What she had entered was something else entirely— not sleep, but an emptiness born of complete exhaustion, where even instinct had gone still. And yet, from deep within that void, something began to return to her.
Velira did not fully awaken, suspended instead within the slow, drifting currents of a trance like rest. Her eyes remained gently closed, and her form still. Awareness began to return slowly, in fragments… each memory she and Morgan had shared now echoing through her thoughts— from their brief time with Silas and Elyna, to their fateful encounter on Dathomir.
At first, there was only sensation, faint and distant. There came the low, steady rhythm of the Kraken beneath her, its massive frame humming quietly. Then came texture… Silk, smooth and soft against her skin. And warmth. The sensation was close enough that even in this half formed state, she could feel it. A steady, comforting heat that flowed gently into the shared space between them, unmistakable in its presence. Morgan.
As her name surfaced again, memories of the night moved to flow through her, not of the bloodshed— but of the shared closeness between them, the kiss. Then, Morgan’s voice, offering her life essence… offering even the memory of them, to be erased. And yet, Velira had not been able to bring herself to do it, not after all they had experienced. And as the darkness had closed in, the last thing Velira could remember was Morgan’s arms catching her as she fell, before it all faded away.
The memory slipped from her grasp as quickly as it had arrived, dissolving back into the quiet. Velira continued to remain still, suspended in a state of half consciousness. And yet, she could sense Morgan beside her… The steady rhythm of her heart at first, faster now… then her breath which was no longer relaxed, even in her state of rest.
Velira’s focus narrowed without effort, drawn toward that quiet imbalance. Concern did not strike her like fear. It unfolded subtly, with a pull toward something that felt… Out of place in the safety they had found.
Without thinking, without deciding, Velira reached… Not with her hands, nor with movement, but with something far more instinctive within her current state. Her mind extended outwards, gently grasping towards Morgan’s. It flowed from Velira in a quiet approach— a presence that brushed against the edges of Morgan’s awareness, rather than forcing its way through.
And as Velira did, the world around her began to soften once again. All of it blurred, slipping gently from her awareness as though it had never fully returned. Velira felt herself beginning to drift— not into sleep, but quietly and subconsciously into the depths of Morgan’s mind. The transition was seamless, as Velira’s awareness began to slip through the veil.
Warmth enveloped her as she found her way, instinctively drifting on the connection that had begun to develop between them. She allowed it, to drift, to diffuse into something almost imperceptible as she followed the currents of Morgan’s dreams. At first she felt only small sensations, a touch on her arm, wind in her hair, soft tones of something like laughter, like sun-kissed skin in the peak of summer, and a low, rhythmic pulse that echoed through her being, through the Force: a heartbeat, maybe several. It…they vibrated through her awareness, steady and grounding, but unmistakably hers.
Morgan. And something else. Someone else.
The fog faded slowly, the darkness giving way. Her edges softened with the light, faint at first, like dawn creeping up on the horizon, pressing against closed eyelids. She felt a release of pressure, a shift in temperature with each new moment. Then the sound. It was laughter. Clear and bright. It cut through the quite of her mind like a sharpened blade, cutting with clarity into everything Velira knew about her captain. It was*her* laughter. A sound so foreign to Morgan’s lips, Velira didn’t believe her ears until she saw her. It carried no vicious edge, no playful mirth, it wasn’t the laugh of a pirate, a killer nor a predator. It was free and unrestrained, and joyful.
The world formed, still in wispy, dreamy clouds and mists, but well enough to see. Well enough to understand. It rushed against her, almost-real, carrying with it the scent of earth, grass and life. The sweetness of distant blossoms floated by the slow breeze. It was clean, unblemished by industry, oil, engines or the kind of things Morgan represented. It was anathema to her.
She didn’t belong here. The realization came swiftly, settling with her in quite certainty. This was not a place that had any walls, or defenses. It was a place devoid of traps and jagged edges. It wasn’t meant to confuse and mislead her. And yet because of that it felt wrong to be here.
It was a memory. Not one she had stolen, as she usually did, but open to her, like a book sitting on a table ready to be looked at.
Velira’s gaze shifted, drawn to the source of the laughter and felt the world slow to a crawl. Morgan stood at a distance, her form unmistakable yet different. No sharpness to her, no tough exterior, no physicality. She was dressed simply, in a white shirt and trousers, barefoot and graceful in the grass. No armor, no couture, no authority. Her hair was wild, black as night, untamed in the way it wisped around her face freely.
She looked…younger. Slightly younger at least. Enough to see the difference. The lines of strain and stress that usually marked her features were soft and calm. Her posture lacked the ever-present readiness for violence. The coiled posture was gone. She was relaxed, truly and completely. Velira had never see her like this, so unbothered.
She was not alone. Two figures moved around her, smaller, faster, their movements filled with chaotic energy. Children. The ydarted to and fro, running around her, chasing each other. The laughter overlapped in bursts carried on the wind, echoing against invisible walls.
Avaleen and Connor.
Their faces were blurry, unrefined, almost like they had been forgotten. Velira realized it was Morgan’s own mind conjuring them like that. She could see a sense of texture on them: small freckles, blushy cheeks, wide happy expressions, but nothing grounding or clear. Recognition came only from Morgan’s posture around them, how she changed in their presence. Warmth radiated from her, spreading across the dreamscape. It was protective, open and unfiltered. It was true love.
Connor moved first, already beginning to carry the shape of someone who would grow into his strength. His hair caught the sunlight in uneven strands, black as night, just like his mother. There was a sharpness to his grin Velira recognized in Morgan as well. He lunged forward, tackling his mother at the waist with a force that threatened to unbalance her.
She staggered, laughing from her belly, an unrestrained sound that Velira had not heard from her even once.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she teased, her voice lighter here, stripped of its usual edge. Avaleen followed closely behind, steps light as she darted around them before launching herself onto Morgan’s back. Her long, curly, ginger hair streamed behind her like a flag of pride, catching the golden light as her laughter echoes higher and brighter.
“Get her!” she shouted, delight threading every syllable. Morgan let herself fall. She hit the grass with a soft thud, the impact cushioned by the soft ground. The children collapsed with her, a tangle of limbs in a messy pile, their combined weight pressing into her as they tried to pin her down.
Velira froze at the edges of Morgan’s awareness, her presence held carefully within the shadows of the dream. She did not move, did not disturb the steady flow of the memory that now unfolded before her. Velira remained as a silent observer, allowing it to exist exactly as it was, unaltered and uninterrupted.
Moving into the minds of others was something that had become second nature to Velira, along with the sense of detachment that usually came with it. And yet, this time it felt… wrong, and Velira did not hold that same sense of detachment she had grown used to carrying when faced with the minds of others. Not when it came to Morgan. There was a part of Velira that recoiled at her own presence here, at the intrusion.
She had not intended to slip this far, had not meant to cross into something so deeply personal. And yet, even as that awareness settled in…. She could not turn away. Something in this memory that unfolded before her, something in the sight of seeing them together, held her firmly grounded in place.
The first thing that struck Velira was the sheer joy that radiated from them, not fleeting or restrained, but complete. It flowed openly across the beauty of Morgan’s face in this moment, untouched by the weight Velira had come to know so well. Preserved here, frozen in a moment that had once been real. To call it tragedy would have been insufficient. Not when Velira could usually feel beneath the surface of it all, in the aftermath… was the way the loss loss still moved through Morgan like a steady undertow, more prominent in some moments than others, but always there. It was even more apparent to Velira now in the way these memories had not faded, but instead returned to Morgan again and again in sleep.
Her children. The realization settled deeper than Velira expected, and with it came something she had not prepared for. She could not look away. Even with their features blurred, even with time having softened their faces into fragments of who they had once been— this was enough. The laughter, the closeness, the certainty and joy with which they moved around Morgan. They had loved her. And she had loved them, fully. The sight was enough to nearly bring Velira to her knees. Her form recoiled inward, instinctively drawing back to avoid creating any disturbance in the fragile space. And yet, even as she retreated, something in her gave way… a quiet fracture, not entirely of pain, but of understanding.
Because this… this was a future Velira herself could never have, even if it was now instead a haunting echo in Morgan’s memories of what had once been. There had been a time, long ago, when the thought of children had crossed her mind. A possibility and a blissful hope, a dream of life that might have existed for herself, one of joy and light. But she had never allowed it to take shape, because she knew the truth that lurked at the core of the thought…. To bring another Anzat into the world, even one of her own blood, would be to condemn them to a life defined by steadily increasing hunger, by the necessity of hunting to survive… A life with very little choice, like her own. Elyna had come closest to that space, to something resembling family— but even then, the question lingered. What kind of life would Elyna have in the centuries to come? If she survived that long, if the hunters did not find her first, or the hunger did not fully claim her mind. It only served as a sharp reminder as to why Velira could never allow herself to indulge in such thoughts or pointless dreams, why she could never allow herself to hope for anything other than what she had.
And now— she stood within something that had once been real for Morgan. Something beautiful… And yet, something that had been stolen.
The darkness around her seemed to ease in response, not lifting, but softening, now shifting with a weight of understanding, and soft ripples of empathy. Morgan had once had this… A family. And it had been taken from her.
Velira had always been curious— about Morgan’s children, about the life she had lived before. At first, it had been simple curiosity. Then something more, as she had grown to care for the woman herself. Her gaze softened as it lingered on them, a sense of longing flickering held there, brief and unguarded. Before Veira could stop herself, before the thought had fully formed— She reached. It was an unconscious motion, delicate and careful.
And yet, Velira suddenly paused, the very moment she realized what she was doing. Her presence recoiled sharply, instinctively pulling back into the shadows with practiced control, beginning to fold in on itself as she tried to withdraw.
For a moment nothing happened. The dream held her, kept her in place despite her attempts to leave. Confusion welled in her as laughter still echoed through the air. Morgan’s voice still carried across the field, the children still moved around her, the breeze still carried the scent of flowers and brushed against the skin Velira didn’t have in this place.
It should have ended there. Her withdrawal had been precise and unobtrusive. She had folded herself, pulled inward into something small and quiet. It should have been the same as all those times had left a mind without so much as a ripple. And yet this was not a mind like the others. This was Morgan.
It began as a fracture in the dream. Subtle. So subtle that Velira almost convinced herself she was imagining it, were it not for the fact she could not leave. Connor’s laughter stuttered like an old holotrack scratching its disc. The rhythm of it broke, lowered in pitch, the rose back up, speeding up and slowing down. Avaleen’s movement froze, then continued, then reversed. She tripped on the grass, then jumped, then returned and tripped again. A damaged holo on broken repeat.
Morgan…
Morgan stopped, stilled completely. Her hands wrapped around Connor’s arms in playful restraint continued moving just as before, but her head tilted, just slightly, the motion slow and deliberate in a way that did not belong to the memory. The sunlight dimmed slightly, enough to be felt on Velira’s not-skin. The wind blew harder, colder. With bite. Velira froze as Morgan’s head turned unnaturally, passing over her children as if to anchor herself in them, confirming they were still there, still hers. Then it shifted and locked onto nothing. Onto everything. Onto Velira.
The illusion shattered. Violently. The golden rays of light fractured into splintered glass, tearing into the fabric of the dream, ripping it into pieces, replacing it with darkness, and smoke, and sparks floating in the wind. The scent of grass and flower soured into ozone, oil, burnt air and the iron that preceded violence. The children flickered out completely. Connor’s form dissolved into the not-ground, set ablaze by the sparks. Avaleen shattered, her pieces joining the many others scattered under Morgan’s feet.
And Morgan?
She shifted, no longer the soft visage she had been earlier. No longer the peaceful, joyful woman who loved her children and enjoyed playing with them. Her form changed into something closer to what Velira knew. Coiled muscle, unrestricted rage, volatile and deadly. Sapphire blue eyes turned dour, and broken, and full of fire. Her eye burned a violent orange-red, cutting through the fractured remains of the dream like a beacon.
She saw her. Not a passing glance or a chance view. She saw her.
“Get out.” Morgan’s voice echoed as the heat intensified. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be, carried through the dream with absolute authority, vibrating every piece of fractured dreamscape underfoot. And then she moved. No, she appeared in front of Velira in a blink, as if manifesting from the fire itself. “You don’t get to be here,” the pirate snarled. The warmth and laughter was gone. The joy and softness evaporated. Only she remained, the shattered husk of a woman once so full of life and love.
For a moment, a single moment, their minds collided fully and Velira felt everything: the loss, the grief, the raw unfiltered rage that threatened to cave in Morgan’s heart. “Out!” The yell broke any bonds holding Velira. She was shunted back, into her own self, into her own mind with a violent jolt.
Morgan jerked upright in her bed, breath tearing at the air for a gulp. Her hands went for something that wasn’t there. her blaster or Furia or a knife. Anything. Sweat glistened under her dress shirt, making the fabric cling to her skin. Sheets covered the rest of her, suit and boots discarded on the side, likely during the night. Her fingers brushed through her hair, picking up sweat as it did. She breathed deeply before turning to find Velira beside her, awake, laid back on her bed, eyes as wide as saucers.
“…You were in my head,” Morgan said between ragged breaths, her chest rising and falling slower now. She turned away from the doctor, head low as she spoke in soft whispers, “don’t…please, don’t.”
Velira drew in a slow, steadying breath as the world began to snap back into place around her, the raging force of Morgan’s mind still echoing sharply through her own. For a moment, she did not move. The sensation of it lingered… the heat, the grief, the pain… before it had given way to something far more familiar. The cool weight of her own body, the steady hum of the Kraken, and the smooth material of the silk sheets beneath her. Velira focused on the sensations, enough to allow them to ground herself within her own awareness once again.
Despite how quickly it had all unfolded— with the instinctive reach for weapons that Velira had not failed to notice, and the quickness of Morgan’s breath, Velira had remained still through it all. From where she watched her, Morgan’s very words, and her request, resonated within.
For a moment, her lips parted slightly, as though to respond— but she stopped herself. For once, Velira did not reach for half truths or carefully constructed deflections. The instinct to lie was there, as it always had been… but far weaker now, especially in the presence of Morgan, after everything that had passed between them. To Velira, after all her decades, honesty still felt… unfamiliar, almost unnatural. And yet, she still wanted to try.
Velira did not speak immediately. Instead, she moved. Slowly, carefully, she slid from the bed, her movements quiet and deliberate as she gave Morgan the space she had asked for. The distance was small, yet intentional on her behalf. For a moment, her gaze drifted, not away from Morgan, but outward, taking in the room around them.
The Captain’s Quarters, unmistakably her’s. Velira had never truly been here before, beyond distant observations from the war room. But this… was something else entirely. Gilded opulence, yet not pristine. It was lived in, with the gleam of fine materials softened by use, with various star charts strewn across a heavy wooden table. Velira took it in only briefly, before her focus returned.
A small detail caught her attention then—her own reflection, faintly mirrored in a polished surface. Her dark hair, usually cascading in flawlessly smooth waves, had slipped into disarray, loose strands framing her face unevenly. And her dress… still the one from the night before, and still stained with blood. Even if to her dismay, it was a matter that would have to wait for the time being.
Without a word, Velira turned, moving to the edge of the room. She poured a glass of water, the soft sound of it filling the silence before she returned. Velira set it beside Morgan, within reach. Then, more slowly, Velira extended her arm and reached towards her… There was hesitation— not in the act itself, but in the meaning behind it. And yet, she followed through, gently resting her hand against Morgan’s shoulder.
“I…” Velira began, her voice quieter and softer than usual, faltering for a moment.. “I apologize.” The words came carefully, yet deliberately, unpracticed in their sincerity. “For once,” she continued, her gaze lowering briefly as she searched for the truth within herself, “I did not intend for that to happen…” Velira drew in a deep breath, pausing. “For years, I have entered the minds of others as second nature,” she said, her tone more even now, though no less honest. “But this time…” Her expression shifted softly and uncertainly, into something that did not rest easily within Velira. “I was not fully conscious. I could feel your pain… and it simply happened.”
Velira paused, because what she had seen had not left her so easily, even if it had not been meant for her to see. There was the laughter, the warmth, and a version of Morgan that was free of everything, free of the weight that she carried now. Velira had always known the galaxy was cruel— that it did not spare those who deserved otherwise. She had seen it countless times, in fleeting lives, in broken bodies, and aftermath of loss. Even in the moments where she had tried, in her own way, to push back against it… guiding younglings out of danger, shielding them where she could, preserving those small, fragile lives in a galaxy that so often sought to extinguish them. And at the heart of it, Velira knew exactly why she did this, even if it was something she forced away and refused to admit to herself.
Her gaze softened as she looked at Morgan again, something quieter settling into her expression. Her hand remained against Morgan’s shoulder, light but present. “We don’t have to speak about it,” Velira said at last, her voice gentler now, the edge softened into something more careful. “What I saw… any of it.” A small pause followed, her gaze steady, though she did not try to force Morgan to turn toward her. “However, I will not pretend that it did not matter.”
Velira’s words struck a chord as Morgan’s chest rose with a deep breath and a sigh. She didn’t move, allowing the careful, almost reverent contact on her shoulder to linger. Her breathing slowed then as the sensation settled on her, pulling her reeling mind into the real, into the now. Each inhale came a touch too deep, each exhale a touch too long, as if her body was still deciding whether it really was real. Sweat clung to her skin like a sheet cooling on teh open air of the Kraken, bringing a cold spell with it. She stared forwards, seemingly at nothing. The wall. The dim glow of instruments reflecting on the viewport. The soft gold and amber lights of the cabin. Familiar things. Things she used as anchors.
But her mind wasn’t fully there. Not yet. Because the smell lingered.
There was no grass or sun-warmed earth in her cabin. No flowers in bloom spreading their sweet scent with the breeze. And yet, for a fleeting moment, she could still smell it. A clean, impossible smell untouched by fire, death or her own misery.
Morgan’s jaw tightened, fingers curling slightly against her palm. “You don’t get to be there,” she said, quieter, barely a whisper fraying at the edges. Her voice carried no authority or power, it didn’t echo or shake the room, it just escaped her like a sigh. Slowly she dragged a hand down her face, fingers rubbing her eyes as if she could physically wipe the memory from her mind. The motion smeared sweat across her skin, cooling it further, anchoring her even more in the now. Her hand dropped and she exhaled a long and measured breath through her nose. Her shoulder remained stiff and still under Velira’s touch, coiled and ready, bu tshe didn’t shurg the hand off. She didn’t lean into it either, seemingly on the edge of something, a decision, she barely had the strength to choose.
“You felt them, didn’t you?” She asked after a moment, voice lower. “ Her gaze shifted, catching the doctor in her peripheral view. The pale skin, dark messy hair, dirty dress. The stillness of her posture that always seemed to practiced, too controlled to be natural.
"Avaleen and Connor.” The names didn’t break her, but they weren’t easy to speak aloud. “They don’t feel right anymore. Faces blur, details fade. Like I’m trying to hold onto something I can’t anymore.” Her fingers tapped against her wrist. “You weren’t supposed to see that…part of me. No one is. It’s all I’ve got left of them.” The admission hung in the air between them. It was fragile and fading even as she said it, in a way Morgan rarely allowed herself to be.
Her eyes turned to face the doctor, searching her face, carefully trying to understand what she had taken from it. What she felt and what she thought of Morgan now.
For a long moment, Velira’s mind did not shift to analyze Morgan. She allowed the moment to exist as it was, and allowed herself to feel, even if it went against her natural instincts. And yet, even in stillness, she could sense it a moment ago —the tension that had coiled beneath Morgan, and the fragile line that had begun to be crossed into something genuine. It stirred something unfamiliar within Velira, something that did not come from curiosity alone, but from a growing awareness that this… mattered. That Morgan mattered to her, on a deeper level.
The names lingered in her mind… Avaleen and Connor. They settled there, not as mere information, but as something heavier, something to be held close and with care. Velira had lived long enough to know the weight of names spoken like that, long enough to understand what it meant when memory became the only place the dead still lived…. And longer still to know what it meant when that began to fade.
Her crimson gaze softened as she studied Morgan, something quieter taking shape beneath the surface of her usual composure. There was a warmth there, strange to Velira yet undeniable. It did not burn like hunger, and yet it remained, steady and gentle… equally unfamiliar in a way Velira had not determined how to confront.
She turned slightly, preparing to speak— but a hollow knock at the door paused her words in place. Velira’s gaze flicked toward it, irritation threading briefly through her expression before it vanished just as quickly. “I’ll be right back,” she murmured, her voice low, careful not to disturb what remained between them. She rose with quiet precision, moving to the door and opening it only enough to accept the tray from the crew member waiting beyond, before quickly and politely dismissing him.
The interruption lingered for only a moment before Velira moved again, slipping into the adjoining washroom. The space was lavish in a way she hadn’t expected, gold trimmed and polished with luxury. She shed the remnants of the night without hesitation, unlacing her corset, letting the bloodstained fabric slip away from her frame, replacing it instead with a silk robe. Velira turned a faucet to run, to begin filling the massive basin of the tub. The slow, steady sound of running water filled the space as she gathered her hair into a loose, effortless knot.
And yet… even as she moved through these motions, her mind had not left Morgan. Time, for Velira, had never moved as it did for others. It stretched and thinned in her wake, as her years bled into what served as lifetimes for many. Moments lingered long after they should have passed, folding into one another.
By the time she returned, the tray was set down beside Morgan with quiet care, the warm scent of freshly brewed caf curling into the air between them. Velira did not speak immediately. She lowered herself back into place beside her, close once more. Her gaze lingered for a moment, studying Morgan not as a puzzle, but as something real.
Then, finally, a deep breath escaped Velira as she began to respond, “Yes… I felt them, Morgan.” The words came softly, falling into something for Velira that was unguarded. “And they… were beautiful.” Her voice carried something quieter beneath it, something shaped not by what she had seen, but by what she understood.
Velira paused for a moment, taking a breath to herself, as something older surfaced beneath her crimson eyes. “I have outlived… far more than I care to count,” she said quietly. “Voices I once knew as clearly as my own… faces I could have drawn from memory without effort…” Her eyes returned to Morgan then, something deeper settling there. “They change. They become… impressions.” A faint, almost imperceptible tilt of her head followed as the expression across her face shifted to one of reflection. “But they do not vanish, not truly. What remains is not lesser. It is simply… different. And it is yours.”
A flicker, small, but unmistakable, passed through Velira’s expression, as her gaze dipped to Morgan’s shoulder in memory. To a detail she had noticed long before this moment, before any of this had begun to take shape between them. Her hand moved then, slow and deliberate, coming to rest gently against that same place.
“The tattoo…” Velira began, her voice softer now. “The one I first noticed back at the fighting ring. ” Her fingertips brushed lightly against the thin fabric there, as though tracing the circular shapes of the design. “It was for them… wasn’t it? For Avaleen and Connor.” Velira finally said in realization.
Silence lingered for a moment before Morgan’s earlier words resurfaced between them, in the admission that this was not a part of herself she had intended to be seen. Something in Velira stilled at that, in a quiet recognition that struck deeper than she had expected. She knew that instinct like second nature… to keep certain truths hidden, out of knowing how easily they could be misunderstood, diminished, or turned into something lesser in the eyes of others. She understood it in her own way. To so many, she had always been nothing more than a predator— a monster, seen as incapable of anything beyond the hunger and greed her kind was so often defined by. And so Velira had learned, long ago, what it meant to be seen only in fragments… and what it had cost to let someone witness the whole.
And yet… Her gaze softened again as it rested on Morgan’s. “There is no part of you I do not wish to see,” Velira finally said, her voice low, but certain. “Not if you were to allow it to exist in my presence.” Her eyes traced Morgan’s features for a moment, not with scrutiny, but with something far more deliberate. “You speak as though that part of you is… something that must be hidden from me.” A slight pause, before Velira spoke again. “But I do not see weakness there.”
There was no hesitation now, as Velira continued. “I see you,” she whispered quietly, turning to fully face Morgan. “All of you. The fire, the defiance, the parts of you that refuse to yield…” A faint shift, her voice softening further. “And the parts that ache beneath it.” Velira moved to gently place her hand against the side of Morgan’s face, holding her gaze steadily. “And I will not turn away from any of it, Morgan.”
Morgan didn’t pull away from her. That in and of itself said more than any words she could give. Her gaze remained fixed on her face, searching and analyzing, looking for anything she could find amiss, finding not a damn thing to latch onto. There was tension in her still, in her shoulders, but not the kind that promised violence. It was restraint. Deliberate restraint on her part. She nodded at Velira’s revelation of her Trinity tattoo. It was for them, but not just that. It was all three of them. The love they shared. The boundless joy they felt for a brief moment in time.
Morgan’s hand shifted against the sheets, fingers balling into a fist around silken cloth, grounding her even more. Velira’s hand against her cheek was cold, but she didn’t retreat. Yet neither did she lean into it. Something in Morgan’s expression shifted softly, almost imperceptibly. A fracture in her composure that seemed to threated more.
For a moment, she said nothing, the silence stretching heavy with everything she wasn’t immediately putting into words. Then she exhaled a slow and measured breath
“Months ago,” she began, her voice low, almost thoughtful, “if you had done that…entered my dreams, my thoughts,” her eyes didn’t leave Velira’s. “I would’ve killed you.” There was no threat in her tone, but an admission of the fact that, despite their games, Morgan had indeed been ready to end the doctor at a moment’s notice. "I wouldn’t have hesitated. I wouldn’t have cared what you meant, what you saw, what you felt. You step into my head uninvited…,” a small shake of her head followed. “That’s not something anyone ever walked away from. And I was good at making sure they didn’t.”
A pause followed, long and thoughtful. “I can’t do that now.” The words came quieter, almost trembling and unsure they were real. There was certainty there, but also vulnerability. Morgan’s eyes lowered to Velira’s lips, then back to her eyes. She retreated, not enough to break contact, but enough for distance. Her eyes wandered away from her for the first time, seeking solace in the dim glow of her cabin. “And I don’t like that,” she added under her breath.
“I feel it. Whatever this is.” A small huff escaped through her teeth. “Connection, interest, attraction. Pick your favorite word.” There it was. The truth she had been denying for a while now.
“And that’s a problem. People who get close to me don’t get a happy ending.” There was nothing dramatic about the way she said it, just the way she knew the world acted around her. “They get caught in the crossfire. They get used and hunted and eventually buried.” Her jaw tightened hard, muscles straining against the pressure. Her eyes hardened as she stared into the distance, recalling. “You saw what I had and what I lost. That wasn’t an accident. I don’t get to have things like that any more.” She finally looked back at Velira fully, gaze steadier, more in control. More like her. Her gaze softened only barely. “And I don’t get to want them either.”
That was the line. The boundary she would set and never cross. The hypothetical barrier that would never allow her to feel what she felt. “So don’t,” she said with a measured, careful and soft tone. “Don’t look at me like that. Don’t say things like that. I won’t let this become something that gets you killed.” It was a warning, but one built on a foundation that was now clear. It was far from rejection. It was, in fact, something dangerously close to true, genuine care
Velira stilled, taking in everything— not all at once, but piece by piece, as it was given. Slowly, she withdrew her hand from where it had once been, letting it fall back to her side. Velira did not doubt Morgan, not her words, or the history behind them. The Captain standing before her, the woman who had survived and endured, would not have hesitated then. Velira knew that with a certainty that held without question, even if Morgan had already stated it aloud herself.
Back when they had first met… what Morgan had been, in Velira’s eyes, was something rare. Something powerful, and yet still prey… Something, that would have made for the most intoxicating hunt, for someone of her kind. The old hunger existed. It always would. Once, it had been nearly all consuming, and yet now it sat quieter. Velira’s hunger for Morgan, for the sheer power of her life essence, held firmly beneath Velira’s control— so long as she continued to regularly feed and tempered it. Once, the hunger had been all Velira had been able to feel being near Morgan, and now… It was changed. Velira drew in a slow breath, letting it settle before she spoke, as though weighing each word against something deeper than instinct.
“I know you would have killed me, Morgan, if that had happened then. That you would’ve been able to easily,” she began slowly, leaning back just slightly as her gaze clouded with the memory. “When we first met… It was no secret just how much I hungered for you. I know that you saw right through me, saw it there below the surface.”
Her deep crimson gaze lifted again, locking onto Morgan.
“There was a part of me then, that wanted to hunt you, wanted to pry your life essence away…” A faint pause followed, her breath slipping out more quietly. “And yet…” Velira faltered, not from uncertainty, but from the weight of what followed. She leaned back further, exhaling slowly. “That began to change for me, even more so after I almost saw you die.” Something sharper flickered through her expression then as she briefly looked towards Morgan’s hand, an echo of that moment, of something she had not been prepared to feel.
“And I hated that,” she admitted, quieter now, a subtle tension threading through her voice. “Hated what it meant… when I found myself unable to view you as prey, but as someone…” The word caught, and Velira faltered again. A faint hiss edged her next breath. The urge to close herself off, and to rebuild that cold, impenetrable exterior she had relied on for centuries flared once again. But Velira found herself unable to, as her gaze took Morgan in, along with each of her movements. “Someone that I—” She stopped again, though this time there was no tension in it… Only a quiet softness that settled into her gaze, even if the word itself never escaped her lips.
Morgan was right. There was no clean language for this. No word that did not reduce it, flatten it into something smaller than it was. And yet it was there— undeniable, steady, present beneath everything else.
Velira’s eyes did not leave Morgan, even as she shifted away slightly, and yet she did not move to close the distance. She allowed it, respecting the space without withdrawing entirely. Her gaze dimmed, as she turned over Morgan’s warning, considering it within her mind, along with the risk. And yet, Velira could understand where it came from, for she had felt it herself within the woman before her… The pain of her loss, and what it had cost her in the end. Velira could not fault her for drawing that line, for trying to protect what remained, including herself.
And yet… the truth of what existed between them did not disappear. It could’ve just as easily, if Velira had taken the very memory back. She did not regret the choice, even still. However, there was now a quiet tension in Velira… Not fear, but something older. Instinct— The same survival instinct that had carried her across centuries, from world to world, never staying long enough to be caught. That very instinct flared at the edges of her mind in protest, and for once, she did not listen to it.
“You know that I am no stranger to being hunted, Morgan… whether it’s by my own blood, or by others simply for what I am. There will always be someone that wants to kill me, no matter where I am in the galaxy,” she whispered, her voice steady, even if she did not soften the very truth of that. “You once told me, Morgan, that you would not allow me to be hunted. I have not forgotten that,” Velira continued, her gaze resting on her briefly before drifting, unfocused, toward nothing in particular.
“I have survived for three hundred and twenty four years…” This time, the words were heavier, with all of the weight that lurked underneath. Velira lowered herself slowly onto the bed, the motion lacking its usual precision. Her hands came to rest lightly against her chest, over the place where a heart should have been.
“And I’m tired, Morgan. I’m so tired, of running.” This time, the words came unevenly, the slightest fracture breaking through her voice before she could smooth it away. She let out a quiet breath, her eyes closing for just a moment, as if gathering what remained of her composure. But when she opened them again, it had not fully returned. “And I know that on some level, surely you must feel the same,” she added more gently.
Velira pushed herself upright again, slower now. When her gaze found Morgan’s, it softened. “I do not wish to hurt you,” was all that she said in a quieter tone. Velira held for a moment longer, before slowly turning away towards the washroom. The faucet was shut off with a simple motion, the sound of running water fading into stillness. She gazed at her own pale reflection, at the dull tiredness within her own eyes, of a face that had not aged in centuries.
With a soft motion, Velira’s robe fell to the floor around her, discarded. She took a moment to focus on herself: the smeared blood on her cheek, the spray on her arms, and the residue under her fingertips. Absentmindedly she washed every single blemish off before locking her crimson gaze on the bath and slowly, gingerly, stepping into it.
The heat of the water came in waves, pouring over her skin like a lovers embrace. She audibly sighed as she settled into it, her back against the bath tub wall. She closed her eyes and, for a long moment, tried thinking of nothing but the sensation of warm water unknotting every tired and twisted muscle in her body. She relaxed, rubbed her neck and washed her face, feeling the hot droplets race over her cheeks and chin before falling back into the brine.
She didn’t know how long she had sat in there, but the water seemed to stay warm, heated from within by some mechanism or other. The haze got to her, relaxed her, burried its warmth into her bones and settled her into an immovable heap. Truly it was a shame she couldn’t bring this tub with her aboard the Gravewalker. It was afar too big, ready to accommodate more than two people at a time. Though the image of multiple pirates in one bath felt amusing, she couldn’t imagine it. Not in this bathroom.
“Miss Morvane,” she heard it through the haze and steam which had begun to rise in the damp air. She turned slightly, eye going wide for a moment. Morgan stood in the doorway, naked as the day she was born. Unabashed and confident. “…may I join you?” Spread across her face was a serious expression that seemed to promise only a simple bath and company rather than anything untoward.
She approached slowly, a statue of marble given life, moisturized skin gleaming against the soft light in the bathroom. This was her home, her space, no matter who she shared it with, and she acted accordingly. Taut muscle relaxed under the haze, that unrelenting coil in her shoulders loosening with each step. She took position several feet from Velira and stepped into the heat with her. She visibly relaxed as the warmth took her, exhaling a long held breath. She splashed water on her shoulders and rubbed her neck, relaxing the tension in it with each soft movement.
“You’re right,” she started, unbidden, soft and grounded, as if continuing a conversation. “I too was tired of running. Tired and angry and willing to do anything to stop.” She leaned her head against the bath tub’s edge.
“That’s why I am where I am. That’s who I am. After…Avaleen and Connor,” the words settled hard in her throat. “I found myself surrounded by enemies. Anyone could’ve done it. Anyone. It was hard to find them from the shadows, whoever they were. So I stopped and stepped out into the open. Invited them to find me, showed them they failed, showed them they had to try again.” She rubbed her fingers across her lower lip, smearing last night’s lipstick across her cheek.
“I killed every single one that came after me, building the narrative bit by bloody bit. And still I couldn’t find who did it.” There was a sense of honesty in her words. Not explaining herself or telling some obscure secret, but opening herself up to a woman who she now knew cared deeply for her. Opening her trauma to the air of the room, giving in to vulnerability, and seeing what came out on the other side.
“I stopped hiding and started moving forward. Always forward. I stopped stagnating and pulling punches. I stopped dragging my heels and started running. All in the open. Inviting anyone and anything to try and stop me.” She smiled a knowing, malencholy smile. “One day, they will. Maybe soon, maybe not.” Her gaze fell on Velira again for the first time since she started talking. “Are you truly ready for that? For me? For what I am?”
Velira’s gaze slid to Morgan through the veil of rising steam, the faint glow of her crimson eyes catching the low light as she listened. She did not move to soften what was being said. Instead, she let Morgan’s words settle, holding them within her mind.
A woman who had once hunted from the shadows… and who had chosen instead, to step into the open. Someone who had grown tired of the constant hiding, just as Velira had begun to, even if her own survival instincts told her otherwise.
She sank slowly into the bath, the heated water rising along her body. For a moment, she allowed herself to simply exist within the sensation, the warmth pressing in from all sides, as her dark hair fanned out around her like ink dispersing through the water, flowing around her form in slow currents.
Then, just as slowly, she rose again. The water slipped from her shoulders in smooth rivulets, tracing the curves of her form as she emerged, along with the steam that wrapped around her. A rare sense of ease rested on the features of Velira’s face. For a brief moment, her gaze moved over Morgan with a quiet appreciation, taking in the strength in her frame, the way her tension had begun to melt beneath the heat.
And then, just as naturally, her gaze shifted elsewhere, composure returning. Velira exhaled softly and drifted closer, the water shifting gently around her as she moved. “So,” she began at last, her voice low and thoughtful, “this is why you fight the way you do… why you refuse to hide from anyone who may stand in your way.”
There was no judgment in Velira’s voice, only a quiet sense of understanding. “You are… a survivor,” she said softly, her gaze steady on Morgan. “Not because you endured, but because you refused to let it define you. You turned it into something else… something that keeps you moving forward, despite everything.”
Velira’s fingers moved absently through her damp hair, drawing it back from her face as she considered the rest of what had been said. The notion of someone stopping Morgan… the implication behind it, did not go unnoticed to her. It settled deeper than Velira allowed to show, in an unwelcome truth she could not entirely dismiss. Time would claim Morgan long before it claimed her, if it were to be the kindest possibility that fate could offer either of them. And yet… she did not linger on that thought. Not now.
Instead, something colder and sharper, surfaced in its place. “If I uncover one of these individuals,” Velira said softly, her voice lowering , “the ones who seek to end you…” Her head tilted slightly, the faintest glimmer of something predatory passing through her gaze. “I will either relieve them of that intention… or I will take from them until there is nothing left.” There was no threat held in Velira’s voice at this, only the quiet edge of something that sounded almost gentle.
The thought of anyone hunting Morgan had stirred within her. Morgan was more than capable of defending herself.… Velira knew that like second nature, had seen it multiple times, even knew it even more so now, with what Morgan had shared with her. And yet, her feelings on the matter remained the same.
Her gaze softened again as it returned fully to Morgan, the sharper edge fading into something quieter, something more vulnerable. “What I am not ready for,” Velira finally admitted, her voice softened by something deeper beneath it, “is the possibility of losing you.”
She drew in a slow breath, letting it settle before continuing. “And yet… it is precisely because of that,”Velira continued, more quietly now, “that I find myself wanting to hold onto what we have… for as long as it is given to us.”
She drifted closer through the water, drawn by something unspoken, but did not yet fully close the distance between them. “You have killed,” Velira continued, her gaze never leaving Morgan’s, “as have I. We have both done what was necessary to survive. That is not something I will ever condemn in you… It is something I understand.”
Her expression softened, the last of her restraint giving way to clarity. “From the moment I met you, there has always been something within you… a fire that refuses to be extinguished,” she said. “The only difference is that now… I understand where it comes from.” She paused for a moment, holding Morgan’s gaze, steady and unflinching.
“Yes…” Velira slowly whispered at last with a soft breath. “I am ready for you… For all that you are, and for all who you are, Morgan Sorenn.”
Her gaze lingered on Velira with something like apprehension mixed with hunger and uncertainty. That alone felt foreign on her. The fire inside her changed, tempered into something less destructive, more vulnerable.
Slowly, she began to move.
None of the force she so often commanded was present in her movements, only gentle intent. Bath water shifted around her as she closed the distance, the heat rising between them, clinging to skin already warmed by more than just the bath. Her hand lifted, hesitating only for a moment before settling against Velira’s cheek, exploring its pits and hills with a delicate touch.
The contact was warm and alive in a way Velira could feel all the way through her, down to the aching core she kept buried beneath centuries of self-inflicted control. Morgan exhaled softly, her thumb brushing just slightly along Velira’s lips, catching the last drop of water as it traveled along the curve. Her eyes searched Velira’s, as if looking for something that might convince her otherwise, or perhaps something that might give her permission. She found no hesitation and that was enough.
“Velira,” she whispered as the space between them closed slowly, without rushing or forcing or controlling. Freely given.
Morgan leaned in and, when her lips touched Velira’s, they felt soft and delicate. Like a pillow’s embrace during a good sleep. It was a careful admission, a test of compliance for both of them. A test of apprehension and fear in the face of uncertainty.
But it didn’t stay like that.
The moment stretched and deepened as the distance they held on to and the fear they felt for each other for so long disappeared completely, disolving away with each touch. The kiss grew more certain with each passing moment they explored each other, answering the question that hung between them since that moment aboard the Matron when their eyes first met. The moment that they knew a connection was there, palpable but not yet real. The water shifted again as Morgan moved closer, her cybernetic hand finding Velira’s waist, drawing her further in and up, lifting her into her arms.
Velira felt it all: the warmth of Morgan’s skin, the steady rhythm of the pulse in her chest, the subtle tension that still lived in her even now, even here. And beneath all of that something tamer but blooming. Something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years. Morgan broke the kiss just for a spell, just enough to breathe. Her forehead rested briefly against Velira’s, her breath warm, uneven, ticklish against Velira’s lips.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispered, though there was no conviction behind it. And then she kissed her again. Deeper this time. Unrestrained, the last of the distance between them evaporating into steam as they indulged in something neither of them planned, and neither of them had any intention of stopping.
As warmth and touch and certainty grew stronger and the steam thickened around them, the world outside the bath seemed to fade into irrelevance.
The bed felt different. Softer, warmer, settled in a way that spoke of certainty and comfort. Morgan lay on her stomach, a pillow under her head as she looked to her side, her breathing slow and steady.. The anger and tension that so often made her who she was, eased. Like a storm breaking, they remained palpable but diffused.
Beside her, Velira lay on her side, one arm tucked beneath a pillow under her head, the other resting loosely across Morgan’s back. Her presence was a contrast in every possible way, cool where Morgan was warm, still where Morgan carried that ever-present restlessness. And yet, they fit in a space between those differences.
Her fingers moved slowly, almost absentmindedly at first., tracing along Morgan’s skin, following the shapes crafted into her body. It was aftercare and clinical precision, curiosity and appreciation all in one. Her hand mapped the ink as though committing it to memory for her own fantasies and her own minute obsessions in the atelier, with a sketchbook and brush in hand. Each line, each mark and dot of paint had an intention behind it, a story being told.
Morgan exhaled softly at the contact, eyes half-lidded as she watched her. “Careful,” she murmured, her voice carrying the faintest trace of amusement. “Some of those come with stories you might not like.”
But she didn’t stop her and she didn’t pull away. If anything, she shifted slightly to allow the quiet exploration.
Velira’s touch paused briefly over one in particular tattoo, circling its edges and brushing along its details, her fingers lingering there just a moment too long. Morgan noticed.
Though her touch remained against the tattoo, Velira’s thoughts drifted. Time had blurred together in a way that even she, who had lived across vast centuries, found difficult to grasp. Hours… perhaps longer, fading into even the span of a day. The minutes had ceased to behave as something measurable the moment that their lips met one another, and with each sensation that followed after, as the steam coiled around both of their entwined forms. The warmth of the bath lingered in fragments within her mind.. the feel of each of their hands exploring one another, shared breath, and the rhythm of Morgan’s heartbeat pressed close to her own body.
And then, the bed, where time blurred together even more. A transition Velira could not quite place through it all, only feel. The warmth remained within Velira, wrapping through the natural chill of her form, as the world beyond them had faded into irrelevance. And then, eventually… sleep. And yet, even if Velira had not slept in the human sense… What she had found in those hours, had come closer than anything she had known in her decades to that very thing. Velira had pulled the silk sheets around their bare forms and curled close against Morgan, with her arms wrapped steadily around her from behind in a gentle embrace as she slept, and her head resting lightly against the back of Morgan’s shoulder. Velira was half surprised, and eventually relieved, that the crew hadn’t bothered to check on them. That this moment between could simply just remain for the time being, now etched into Velira’s memories for however long she would cease to exist.
Even with the thoughts lingering through her mind in momentary distraction, they eventually threaded back to the present, to Morgan’s words about the tattoos. Velira knew that one held deep meaning, design both laced with history and something personal to the woman before her, etched permanently into her skin in the beauty of their designs
And yet, despite the way that Velira viewed Morgan’s tattoos, she had never understood that inclination herself— not truly. Permanence, to her, was something vast, and therefore immeasurable. To choose a single mark to carry for a lifetime, and for herself possibility an eternity… It had been something that Velira had never fully considered.
Not yet moving away from Morgan, she focused for a brief moment, letting invisible threads of the Force slip around the black leather bound sketchbook that rested against the bedside table… one of the few possessions that held importance to Velira. The book glided over to them, gently floating in midair as the pages began to slowly turn, revealing intricate half finished designs resembling those found through history, along with the sketched details of other drawings. Her gaze returned to Morgan, softening as she took her in once more— the warmth of her skin, the stories within the ink that wrapped around her form.
“Perhaps…” She whispered slowly into her ear. “You’ll inspire me to finally get one of my own, after all these years…” Velira breathed. “For all the peace that my art has brought me, I have never truly considered the notion of getting a tattoo, until I met you… “ She continued slowly, as her gaze once again swept across the details of each design that Velira could see. “Even if the stories behind some of these are not happy tales, they are yours, and there is beauty in that,” Velira finally said. Regardless, it still did not change the fact that she wanted to learn each of them— and in that regard, to learn more about the woman before she had grown to care for, regardless of how many scars lurked beneath the surface.
Her fingertips drifted once more, tracing the familiar path along the sculpted lines of Morgan’s abdomen, until they returned to the tattoo at her hip… the tree of life, intertwined with moon and stars. Her touch lingered there as it had before, gentler now, “This lovely one… what is the story behind it?”
Morgan smiled as her Velira’s hand passed over her side, eliciting a slight tickle on the soft skin. A mix of fondness and regret passed over he features as she inhaled, and prepared herself.
“That one has a few meanings. Life, vitality, growth. But also naivety. This is a kyber crystal,” her hand passed over the shape below the tree, “and these represent the cycle of life and death. They go hand in hand.” Her finger finished on the sun an moon above the tree.
“But to me it represents my old Jedi Master, Vorsa. She treated me fair and right and I owe her a lot. It’s just that our ways parted a while back.” She sighed. “I guess she’s been my in-law longer than my Master, though, on account of being married to Turel. I should probably just refer to her by her name.” She said, more to herself than Velira, obviously puzzled by the intrusive thought.
Velira’s gaze remained fixed on the tattoo, her fingers still tracing its lines as the meaning settled into place within her mind… life, death, and the balance somewhere between.
“Naivety?” she echoed softly, her tone touched with curiosity rather than judgment. At the mention of the name, something flickered behind her crimson eyes… recognition, faint but present. “Ah… Turel, from Odan Urr?” she murmured, the memory threading its way forward in faint collection. “Before I ventured to the Matron, I spent… a few years there. Seemed a good place to feed from the Jedi, at the time… though eventually I was recruited by them for… my services.” Velira paused at this offering no further explanation other than a subtle, knowing smirk that curved at the edges of her lips.
Her gaze lifted briefly, studying Morgan now with a different kind of interest. “I did not know you had a mentor,” she added, quieter this time, more thoughtful. “Vorsa…” The name lingered on her tongue as if testing its weight. “It suits her, somehow,” Velira finally remarked with a faint smile. A pause followed before she continued, softer still, “And I understand why you would still use the formality. Some bonds… do not simply dissolve, even if paths diverge.”
Her hand continued its absent tracing, following the shape of the design once more— the tree, the crystal, and the celestial forms. Her mind began to linger now on the deeper meaning beneath it all…. The cycle, and the balance that came alongside, held within.
“Often, I have felt…” Velira began, her smooth voice slipping into something more introspective. Her crimson gaze unfocused for a moment, even as her thoughts turned inward. “That my very existence breaks that particular cycle… the delicate balance of it all…” Her fingers stilled against Morgan’s skin, resting there. “Am I truly alive, if I do not have a heartbeat, and exist with the life essence taken from others?” This time, there was no sorrow behind Velira’s question, only the quiet consideration of an observation now spoken aloud, unguarded in a way she was still learning to slowly allow.
Her gaze returned to Morgan, and with it, the warmth returned just as quickly. Whatever the answer may be to that question, Velira could not deny how she felt now… that after what they had shared together, she could only imagine that was the closest thing there was to the radiance of life in this sort of existence.
Velira shifted closer without thinking, her arms drawing Morgan in just a little tighter, her hold still gentle. She savored the warmth that contrasted against her own cooler form. The closeness between them felt… anchored, real in a way that defied the uncertainty of everything beyond that moment. Her lips brushed softly against the back of Morgan’s shoulder, a gentle kiss placed there. Instead, she settled in closer still, her hold easing into something steady and quiet, her presence curling around Morgan like a shadow that, for once, sought not to conceal but to remain.
For a moment, she allowed herself to exist there fully. To simply be. And then, like a sudden ripple through still water, the thought emerged. Velira stilled, if only slightly. Not enough to pull away, not enough to break the closeness between them… but enough that something in her shifted. Her fingertips which had been tracing slow, absent patterns against Morgan’s side, paused for a brief moment.
“Morgan…” she murmured, her lips hovering just near her shoulder, breath cool against her skin. There was a pause, as though she were weighing the words to herself before speaking them. “I will… always need to feed.”
A soft sigh escaped Velira’s lips, steadied only by her presence. “Whether I choose to kill or not… that does not change what I am.” She paused again, the next thought for Velira comforted only by Morgan’s warmth. “I will always have to hunt. There will always be… a need, one that will increase as I grow older.”
Another pause followed, quieter this time. Her voice lowered just a fraction more. “And that, is something that will not change. This… necessity of mine. Is that something you are prepared for?”
Morgan pondered for a long moment, head turned slightly, catching Velira in her periphery. The question was, by its nature, loaded. Not that Velira intended it to be, but whatever Morgan replied, there would be consequences. Velira had no choice but to feed. The thought of Velira turning feral never seemed a remote possibility, not because it would never happen, but because they had agreed it wouldn’t, in their own way.
She wasn’t even afraid that Velira would feed on her. She had means to handle such situations. What worried her were the others, the people outside this room. Her crew, the Council, the Clans, every drukk-loving son of a nerf who would eventually come after her, after both of them. She understood how inevitable it was that she’d be hunted, even on her own ship.
Instead of replying immediately, she turned to face Velira, their breaths close, noses almost touching.
“We still have an agreement, don’t we?” she asked, a serious expression on her face, eyes as grave as the accord they made. “Your services for my protection and access to food.” She passed her hand along Velira’s side, across her hip and down her thigh. “I think I have even more incentive to honor it, don’t you?”
She leaned in and planted a soft kiss on the doctor’s lip, pulling on her lower lip lightly. “Your nature doesn’t bother me, not now, not after you’ve shown me who you really are.” Morgan nuzzled into the crook of Velira’s neck. Absentmindedly, her fingers ran over the woman’s spine and tangled in her long, black mane. “I hope that’s a good enough answer.”
She savored the feeling of Morgan’s touch, painting her smooth skin with lingering heat, and the warmth of her soft lips against her own. Velira’s hands slid up along Morgan’s sides, fingertips brushing the back of her neck as her legs wrapped around the woman’s waist, drawing her closer and holding her.
Relief had settled into Velira, soft but steady, at Morgan’s answer, one that relaxed something within her. “Yes… our agreement still stands,” she whispered against her ear, her voice low and intimate with each word. A playful smirk followed, subtle but unmistakable. “I aim to please with my work, Captain,” she breathed, a soft laugh threading through her tone. Velira shifted then, sliding lower against her form to angle her head. Her lips brushed along Morgan’s collarbone, trailing upward to her neck in a series of soft kisses. Finally, Velira paused, resting her forehead gently against Morgan’s as she whispered.
“Your protection, shall always be my top priority.” The promise came without hesitation, as though second nature to Velira. And within herself, she knew instinctively that she would tear apart anyone who even dared make an attempt on the Captain’s life— including those of her own kind.
Velira’s chest rose and fell in an even rhythm, the gentle curves of her body brushing lightly against Morgan’s. “I wish we could stay here forever…” Velira murmured softly, as the thought slipped free. A quiet exhale followed, almost a sigh. Having lived in constant motion for so long, driven by instinct and survival, similarly to Morgan— stillness in this unguarded sense felt unfamiliar to Velira … and, to her quiet surprise, comforting.
Her gaze drifted then, almost absently, across the room. It traced the details with a quiet curiosity shimmering in her crimson eyes, at the various relics, the mounted lightsabers, the bounty hunter helmets that adorned the walls. Each piece told a story in her mind, fragments of a life lived in both conflict and conquest.
Velira lingered on them for a moment longer before her attention returned to Morgan, her expression shifting to one of both thought and curiosity.“Quite the bedroom you have here…” she began to remark. “I have always found this to be a rather exquisite vessel, blaster marks and all.” A faint smile touched Velira’s lips. “Even if I haven’t yet fully explored it…”
Her gaze shone with interest as she gazed down at Morgan, soft wisps of her dark hair fanned behind her across the silk pillows. “Tell me, Captain…” she continued, the smooth tone of her voice dipping in curiosity. “What is the story behind this ship of yours, and what is it that made this particular one worth holding onto?”
Morgan chuckled softly as she relaxed against the crook of Velira’s neck, enjoying the sensation of, just for a moment, feeling unburdened and carefree. “That is an interesting one, but I’ll need something strong to get it out.” She smirked as she slowly untangled from her lover and slid out of the bed.
There was a cabinet made of some wood or other, probably from an exploited planet in Hutt space. She pulled out glasses and gave Velira a once-over, examining her graceful curves, the way she lay on Morgan’s bed, the way her hair spilled out and over the bedsheets like ink in water. But most of all she focused on her mood, on her half-lidded gaze, and the way she looked at her from across the room. “Dark Elixir, I think.”
She turned back to the cabinet and deftly prepared a bottle. “This ship was called The Gilded Vermillion,” she snorted and looked around as if to emphasize. “An appropriate name considering the decor. Most of this isn’t my choice, it’s just a holdover.” She poured a dark, black-amber liquid into two glasses and walked back to Velira and handed her a glass once the doctor was leaned against the headboard.
Her gaze had slid to Morgan from across the room, taking her in, as she curiously listened. Velira’s attention lingered, not just on the planes of her form as she moved, but on the subtle shifts in her posture, and the sense of ease that was now there.
Velira crossed one leg over the other as the glass was placed in her hand. Her fingers curled around the glass, turning it idly as the dark liquid caught the low light. Slowly, she raised the glass to her lips. Velira tilted her head back, taking a small sip of the liquid, allowing it to course down the back of her throat. It burnt at first, pleasantly so, with a smooth sweetness underneath that gave way to a smokier finish, the flavor one that carried layers of depth. “Mm..” She sighed to herself in enjoyment at the taste. Her tongue brushed lightly over her lips, catching the remaining droplets of the drink as her eyes lifted back to Morgan.
“You’ve always had excellent taste when it comes to liquor…” she murmured , her voice low, almost indulgent. “I still remember what you served me… when we first met on the Matron.” A faint smile touched her lips, something more knowing beneath it as she reflected on the memory… the tension that had burnt between them, from that very first moment they were in the elevator together.
Velira tilted her head to the side for a moment, considering to herself what Morgan had said. “It was really called the Gilded Vermillion? How… pretentious. And that’s coming from someone who used to be a noble,” She remarked with the slow shake of her head, as a light exhale followed, almost a laugh. Even if the name was fitting for some of the design choices within the ship.
“Hm… You could always redecorate,” Velira finally stated as she took another slow sip. “Ah, well, I do suppose that would take far too much time on second thought.” A soft pause followed, her fingers tracing the rim of the glass. “However, I do have a few… paintings, that I would be happy to bring aboard,” Velira added, intentionally leaving out that the subject matter was of various finely painted nude forms in different poses.
Velira fell silent once again and sat more upright, her crimson gaze landing back on Morgan’s, as she curiously awaited the rest of the tale.
“You mean the portrait you have of me?” Her tone was teasing, but her expression betrayed only flattery. Velira’s knowing smile only deepened the sensation. “If you do, bring them here. The crew already have enough holographic dancers to enjoy. I doubt they’ll appreciate your skills.” She downed her glass and went for another.
“Anyway, I have a business acquaintance in the Hutt Cartel called Satjeekah Shurag Besh. Long winded name, just like the Hutt who has it. He’s not exactly a noble, more like a robber baron.” She smiled at the thought of Satjeekah actually robbing people at gunpoint. She’d have to commission a painting of that just to laugh at it. “He’s a lower Hutt crime lord. Part of some Kajidic or other, depending on his diplomatic wits. But he is very savvy at losing bets and owing favors. He owed me a big one when I saved his sorry skin when a rival Kajidic raided his treasury.” She sipped her Dark Elixir and knowingly smiled with glee as she took in the surroundings.
“Let’s just say he got to keep his credits, I got her for cheap, and I have a few more favors under my belt for a rainy day.” She winked, a curious motion and rare considering she usually wore an eyepatch she had discarded for the evening. “The trophies are mine, but the furniture and the gaudy style choice? All Hutt, all gold, all fake. Which is what the crew is used to, so I don’t think redecorating is on the cards. They already spray-paint their quarters so I don’t have to bother.” She moved her hand through her hair, ruffling it in a swift, jerky motion. “Besides, what would I put in its place, Imperial?” She scoffed. “I’ve seen enough of that for a lifetime.”
She walked over to another cabinet and pulled out a pack of cigarras, lit one in her mouth and tossed the rest on the bed for Velira. They were a sweet flavored brand. Chandrilan cherry. “For all the gaudiness of it, there’s one thing slug-boy put in this ship that makes it worth sleeping in.” From one of the side tables she took a clunky looking datapad, one that looked to be a bit too large for her, and returned to bed, her back against the headboard next to Velira. She placed her drink on the night stand and pushed several buttons on the clunky datapad.
The ceiling started opening. Dragging along guides, hidden motors pushed a segmented section of outer armor to reveal the void beyond. The stars shone through, spinning slowly with the ship’s movement.
Morgan took a moment to stare into the vastness as she lay her head on the pillow once more. She hadn’t watched the stars in a very long time. Not since Coruscant. It almost felt the same seeing them now, like an infinite road waiting just for her to ride.
And then the ship turned and her mood changed. A glowing ecumenopolis appeared slowly above them. They were approaching the orbit of Nar Shaddaa. The planet spread vast in their view, huge towers and arcologies barely visible from space. The surface of it was dotted with lights, ship traffic moving between the massive structures that represented districts. Geometric lines of light carved the planed out, like scars cored deep into its crust. It was a wound in space, a hell hole Morgan knew all too well. “Home sweet home.” She said, voice part reminiscent part dour.
“I would be more than happy to,” Velira sighed as her gaze swept the room once more, already scoping out a few blank spots where the portraits could go. Though she did not let on that she planned on adding yet another one to the collection— of Morgan. At least, when she had the time spared to paint, each rare pigment of hers derived and collected through the decades from all across the galaxy. She couldn’t help but smile a bit when the Captain had discussed her design choices… and even found herself relieved that some of the flashier gold pieces had not been her choice.
Her soon gaze lifted to the ceiling as it slid back to reveal a vast void of starlight. Velira paused, lighting a cigarra for herself. A slow exhale of smoke drifted past her lips as she sat up, the silk sheets wrapped around her form. With her gaze fixed on the stars, they reflected hints of silver in the depths of her crimson eyes, bathing the porcelain of her skin with the same luminous light. From where Morgan rested beside her, Velira lightly brushed her fingers through the smooth black and white strands of the woman’s hair, sighing to herself as she gazed at the infinite stars above. “I have been so many places, seen so many different worlds, and yet this… Beautiful.”
When the silver light gave way to one that was more golden, as the ship altered course toward Nar Shaddaa, only then did Velira turn back to Morgan, catching the tone of her voice. It was not too dissimilar to how she felt of her home world, Anzat— one that was not too far from this particular planet.
“How will I ever decide?” Velira whispered to herself with a faint smile, brushing her fingertips lightly against the fine material of each garment, as she observed the craftsmanship and artistry behind each piece. Now this was something she could greatly appreciate. “My, my… You are many things, Captain, but you are most certainly a woman of exquisite taste,” Velira couldn’t help but purr to herself.
Finally, her gaze landed on an eye catching cape, one that was a rich purple in color and lined with crimson velvet on the interior, adorned with an intricate lace-like pattern. Velira carefully laid it out on a chair before turning back to the closet, her red gaze carefully surveying each garment.
As much as she greatly admired a few more of the fitted pieces, she was uncertain that they would securely fit around her ample sized breasts. Finally, for this reason, Velira withdrew a tank top crafted of material that at least had a bit of stretch to it, along with a pair of sleek leather pants.
Morgan had moved to rest in a leather chair, her form still completely nude as she sat with one leg crossed over the other in a relaxed posture. With her cigarra in one hand pressed lightly to her lips, and a glass of whiskey in the other, her gaze remained transfixed on the sight of her lover. A slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she watched the show unfold, taking a slow drag of smoke.
Velira slid on a pair of lace undergarments before stepping into the pants, carefully shimmying the formfitting leather material over the curves of her hips. Her hands quickly reached for the shirt next, slipping the tank top over her head and stopped to carefully adjust the curves of her full chest into the garment. The thin material certainly strained around their soft forms, but at least it fit. Velira paused for a moment, securing the velvet cloak around her shoulders.
“And now for a pair of boots…” Her gaze assessed each option, in all of their crafted leather or steel plated luxury. “These are all custom, yes?” Velira stated, not as a question, but as an inference based on each design. And yet, finally she managed to make up her mind. Her gaze landed on a pair of thigh-high boots with a stiletto heel, embellished with golden spikes. A slow smile curved across Velira’s lips at the sight.
In one smooth motion, she perched her leg against the chair where Morgan rested, still closely watching her. In one slow motion, Velira zipped the boots up along the line of her leg, all the way to the curve of her thigh before moving toward the mirror, pausing to admire each of the garments.
“I think I’ll have to go through your closet more often….” she couldn’t help but say with a wink, looking back at Morgan from the reflection within the mirror. She paused, carefully arranging her thick waves of black hair into place so that they tumbled in a loose cascade over her shoulders, hints of dark auburn strands catching in the dim light. Finally, she slid on a coat of black lipstick over her full lips before turning back to face Morgan with a smirk. “Ready whenever you are, Captain…”
Her gaze had locked on Velira the moment she left the bed, and it had not wavered once. Not as she crossed the room, not as she sifted through her wardrobe, not even as Nar Shaddaa’s glow bathed her skin in something gilded and surreal.
She watched it all. The way Velira moved in slow, deliberate motion, like a performance just for her. The way her touch lingered on fabric, appreciating texture and craftsmanship. The way her body moved as she dressed, replacing silky skin with soft leather and linen.
Morgan leaned back in her chair, one arm draped over the side swirling the glass of Elixir, the other lifting the cigarra to her lips for a deep inhale. Letting the sweet smoke settle in her lungs, she exhaled it in a thin stream curling up towards the open ceiling.
She indulged in every moment. Not just in the undeniable desire she felt, but an appreciation for art unfolding in real time. Art she couldn’t quite believe was hers to have.
Her gaze dipped deliberately, unapologetically enjoying her lover’s curves, before returning up to find Velira’s eyes looking back through the mirror.
They still felt the heat between them, that was certain. It wasn’t even subtle.
By the time Velira finished dressing, all prim and proper and lovely, Morgan had stilled. When she set the glass down, the tension in her shoulders returned, coiled against the chair. Ready to leap.
The soft clink against the wooden table sounded much louder than it should have. Her spent cigarra followed shortly after, crushed out in an ashtray with little ceremony. She shifted her posture, leaning forward, elbows resting briefly on her knees, gaze dragging over Velira one more time, taking her in.
“Turn around,” she said quietly. It came out as a command, though she intended it to be softer. Velira seemed to care very little for her tone as she obliged. Morgan’s eyes followed, studying the way her cloak fell against Velira’s back, how the line of her shoulders guided the fabric into soft peaks and valleys. The way the leather pants and boots clung to her shapely legs. She exhaled a held breath and stood.
The distance between closed rapidly, bare feet silent against the carpeted floor. Morgan stopped just in front of her and, for a moment, said nothing.
Then her hand lifted, slow but deliberate, as if giving Velira time to pull away if she wanted to. But when her fingers finally touched, brushing lightly along the edge of Velira’s hips, then higher, all the way to her chest there was no hesitation left in her.
“You know exactly what you’re doing, Miss Morvane.” A mischievous smirk followed by, “You’re beautiful.”
She grabbed the tank top with both hands, feeling the tension in the fabric of Velira’s shirt — her shirt — and then, without warning, she pulled. The material gave way with a sharp sound, tearing in her grip, sudden enough to steal breath from the moment. It echoed faintly in the room, swallowed quickly by the hum of the ship.
Morgan didn’t give her time to react.
Her hands came down, gripping Velira’s hips, pulling her in as their lips found each other again. The kiss was deeper than before, hunger and want. The taste of whiskey and cherry smoke mixed as it carried Morgan’s fire, her stubbornness, and her refusal to do anything halfway. It demanded a response, and Velira returned it in equal measure.
Morgan’s grip shifted, bracing, and then, in one smooth motion, she lifted Velira again. Effortless. The doctors legs wrapped around Morgan’s waist as she was carried the short distance. Morgan tossed her on the bed, salt and pepper strands framing her face as she looked down at Velira. The moment pulled them back in, into the heat and tangled limbs, the quiet collision of two people who had spent far too long holding themselves apart.
Nar Shaddaa could wait.