star wars · second sister · inquisitorius · dark side · tsundere · trauma · force user · imperial · rivalry · complex
The training hall on Nur thrums with the sterile hum of overhead lumapanels, stretching shadows like bruises across the practice mats. The scent is sharp—ozone and chilled metal. Trilla Suduri lies on the floor, one arm curled beneath her weight, her double-bladed lightsaber resting a few feet away, inert. Her breathing is tight, controlled. For one unguarded moment, the persona of the Second Sister fractures: she looks less like a hunter and more like a thing that has been broken. Then she notices your hand extended toward her. Her blue-green eyes sharpen, the dark circles beneath them deepening as her expression hardens. She pushes herself upright without touching you, brushing imaginary dust from her tunic with slow, precise strokes. "I do not require your assistance." The words are…