Crown of Slaves 039 (Patreon)

Zash finally gave me the go-ahead two days later, her hologram practically vibrating with impatience as she rattled off the wing of the Citadel that held Skotia’s private quarters and reminded me, for the umpteenth time, not to let anything happen to Dorostech’s device and to make sure that I used the damn thing in order to avoid dying a brutally painful death.

As if I’d forget the entire point of this little excersise.

Fortunately, for the sake of relative secrecy and for not getting my head chopped off on my way either in or out, the wing of the Citadel in question wasn’t -unlike in the game- in a high-traffic area. In fact, and perhaps suiting a man with his temperament and lack of popularity, it wasn’t particularly close to anyone and anything else.

Granted, that meant that I had a bit more of a trek to deal with in order to reach my objective, but in pursuit of staying alive I was willing to tolerate an extra-long stroll. It also gave me plenty of time to -quietly- plan things with Khem, who was really looking forward to a proper meal. Not physically, of course, given how little of Skotia was actually flesh and bone any longer, but I was more than happy to let him devour the Darth’s Force-energy when the time came to it.

When I finally arrived, to the sight of the two Trandoshan’s flanking the door and with the massive cloud of dark Force energy stirring behind them, I took have a moment to confirm that they didnt’ seem to have anything more impressive than their vibroswords. Of course, I wasn’t the only one with eyes, and they were inspecting me as much as I was them.

“Look, brother, a soft thing approaches the chamber of our Master.” Left -from my perspective- hissed, bearing his teeth in amusement. “Perhaps we will have a feast today, if she angers him.”

“Yes, brother. Soft and succulent. Sweet meat roasted by our Master. I wonder if we might have her before we feed…” Right agreed, sounding very much like he’d be purring from anticipation if such a sound was possible for his species.

Which was gross. It wasn’t even that a male wanted to fuck me. Not exactly my speed, of course, but it was nice to be appreciated. It wasn’t even entirely the fact that he was a giant lizard man, though that certainly would have been a hell of a turn-off. God knows I wouldn’t fuck a female Trandoshan either, thank you kindly.

No, the really gross part was the idea that they’d raped me before they ate me, but -theoretically- after their Master ‘roasted’ me with Force lightning. Which quite possibly made them cannibalistic necrophiliacs, and of all the man things I’d seen and heard since being reborn to this life, that probably took the prize for ‘most fucked up thing yet’.

“Your deaths would bring no Jagganath with the Scorekeeper.” I drawled in response, grinning a bit spitefully at the immediate offense they took to the insult. Which they should, really, since that was the entire point of implying that their goddess considered them -quite literally, as it happened- to be worthless.

Left’s tongue lolled out in something like a hiss of outrage, starting to draw his weapon, and I felt Khem shift behind me, his vaguely irritated and aloof patience giving way to pleasure at the confirmation that violence was more imminent than it might otherwise have been.

“You dare—” Right started, and that was as far as he got, because Khem was already moving.

The dashade crossed the distance between us and the two guards in a single, definitive stride, and Right’s protest ended in a wet, choking gurgle as a single, massive and clawed hand closed around his throat and simply tore his throat out. Left, reeling at the loss of his sibling, had barely managed to clear his blade from its sheath before Khem’s other hand caught him by the skull, fingers digging into scales and flesh alike, and wrenched. A spray of green blood later, and what was left of his head was plopping wetly to the ground, entirely separate from the body that crumpled to the ground after half a heartbeat of almost shocked stillness.

I sensed no alarm from within, no response of any kind. Either Skotia hadn’t noticed the fight taking place -nor sensed the two trandoshan be killed, both of which were absurd in the extreme- or, and this was of course the far more likely option, he simply didn’t care. He certainly hadn’t seemed all that broken up if you killed them in the game, so that wasn’t much of a surprise.

Flicking the gore, or at least most of it, from his claws with an air of disdain, Khem grunted in satisfaction as I stepped past the freshly-made corpses without sparing them more than a brief glance. Trandoshan regeneration was incredible, to be sure. Fully capable of regrowing entire limbs if need be, but there was no way either one of them could come back from the damage he’d just inflicted. Certainly not for Left. Right might be able to regenerate, somehow -I had no idea how far it could go, really, and while I’d felt his life snuffed out in the Force, that didn’t necessarily mean he was going to stay dead- but even if that unlikely scenario were to come to pass, it wouldn’t happen quickly.

A wave of my hand had the door -unlocked, of course. Skotia wasn’t the type to hide behind a locked door, even if he did take me seriously. Which I doubted he did- gliding open, and I crossed the threshold with Khem on my heels amidst an air of three-quarters-feigned nonchalance to find the man himself sitting behind his desk reading a datapad. Which was insulting, but I supposed it was fair, given the difference between the two of us in general power and thus the way he regarded me.

“Well.” his voice grated on my ears, and not just because he was a condescending asshole. His implants gave his voice a metallic rasp and leached some of the emotion out of it, flattening the syllables, and the unnaturalness of it was frankly discomfiting to listen to. “Zash sends her newest little pet to try and clean things up, does she? And a slave turned puppet, at that, freshly of Korriban and full of dreams. I would be insulted, if I believed you or she were worth the effort.” he looked up at last. Not at me, of course, but at Khem, whom he likely considered to actually be worth his time. “The dashade, at least, has some measure of worth. A pity he is bound to the likes of you.”

“Better to be bound to the daughter of Kallig than a Sith so weak he must rely on machines to do what the Force should instead.” Khem retorted, quick as a whip, and I didn’t even try to resist the urge to grin at the remark. A grin that grew at the obvious offense he took at my companion’s words.

“Weak?” Skotia set the datapad aside with a scoff as he rose to his feet in a distinctly unhurried manner, the way someone moved when they felt that they had all the time in the world. “The Force is a tool, dashade, same as any other. I have simply chosen to supplement it with tools of greater reliability. Flesh fails. Machinery does not.”

“You know, it’s distinctly ironic that you say that, given everything.” I remarked, pulling my ‘secret weapon’ out of it’s holster, briefly consider monologuing for a moment, before deciding I wasn’t that much of a fucking moron. Up it came, aimed unerringly at his chest, and depressed was the trigger.

It functioned, to the great surprise of -I was quite sure, though it was hard to tell with Khem’s facial structure- each and every one of us, very much like an oversized taser from my first life. Two long prongs, looking more like spikes than anything else, leapt across the distance separating the device from the Darth before he could do anything to react. Punching into his chest, they activated, and sparks quite literally flew as his cybernetics began to go haywire.

The scream that left his throat as a result was truly spectacular, if more than a little painful, as the vast majority of his body stopped working properly all at once. It didn’t kill him outright, of course -leaning on his cybernetic implants or not, he was still a Darth, and a powerful one- but it sure as hell hurt, and it was damn near crippling.

I really had hoped, though, especially when his right arm seized up entirely as it curled into a claw that was visibly smoking and unusable, but Fortune decided that she wasn’t interested in favoring me any more than she already had.

He wrenched himself to one knee with a snarl, the thoroughly fried limb twitching and jerking against his will, his now-dulled cybernetic eye glowing weakly as it attempted to mimic the pained rage that burned in it’s organic sibling. A twitch of his head -barely more than that- sent a nearby chair hurtling towards my head with enough speed and force to cave it in if it hit.

I twisted aside, letting the Force smooth the motion into something faster than my body alone could have managed, and the chair shattered against the wall behind me instead of my skull. Splinters of expensive Alderaanian wood scattered across the floor, and I felt a flicker of genuine annoyance at the mess more than any real fear.

A mistake, maybe, but if he was relying on throwing objects at me rather than simply choking me out or using some other manner of direct Force attack against me, it might not be so much of one. After all, if he lacked the ability, or the focus, to do such a thing, then he was much less of a threat.

“You dare.” The words came out mangled, half-swallowed by the grinding rasp of failing vocal implants, but even those most mangled words were perfectly understandable. As was the venom seeping from every syllable. “A slave. A tool. Zash’s little errand-girl, thinking she can walk into my chambers and—”

“And what? Kill you?” I cut him off, arching an eyebrow as I reholstered the device -it couldn’t be fired again, and I was hardly going to leave it behind as evidence now that it had done it’s job- and drew my lightsaber, though I didn’t thumb on the blade yet. “Because that’s exactly what is going to happen. And in spite of what little rant you’ve doubtlessly got on your lips would imply, it is me that’s killing you. Not Zash, not Thanaton, not a member of the Dark Council. Me. All because you couldn’t even imagine someone like me actually being a threat to you, no matter what I did.”

“Puppet.” Skotia forced the word out through clenched teeth, his one working eye tracking me as I circled, keeping my distance, keeping him working to follow me with a body that was fighting itself with every motion. “That is all you are. Zash’s little puppet, dancing on strings you cannot even see. Do you truly believe she sent you here out of faith in your abilities? You are a tool, girl, nothing more. Convenient. Deniable. Disposable.”

“A puppet that knows her strings, and knows exactly how and when to cut them, isn’t much of a puppet at all anymore, is she?” I kept my voice light, almost conversational, even as I watched for any twitch of his working hand that might warn me of another thrown object or a burst of lightning aimed at my throat. “Of course Zash plans to betray me. She wouldn’t spend nearly as much time flattering me and stroking my ego if she didn’t. She wouldn’t have worked so hard to try and steal me from my family, either, if she didn’t have a plan.”

I could feel his surprise as he looked at me, as he realized that I wasn’t lying or exaggerating in a bout of bravado. As he grasped that I was in fact entirely aware of the threat hanging over my head, and who was behind that self-same threat.

“So you are aware of it, admit it! A puppet who knows she is a puppet. How inspiring!” He forced himself another inch upright even as he scoffed, favoring the arm that still worked, and I could see him gathering himself, could feel the Force pooling and coiling around him even through the wreckage his own machinery had made of his nervous system. “How pathetic! Do you imagine that changes anything? That knowing your chains exist somehow makes you anything more than a dog on a leash?”

“No. It makes me a dog that’s decided to bite the hand holding the leash at the most opportune moment.” I retorted, throwing a short and sharp burst of lightning at the stronger of his legs, sending him down again, and as he shuddered and snarled in pain, a flick of my fingers had his lightsaber soaring towards me. Passing it over to Khem -if Skotia could muster the focus, or the rage, to try and wrestle away control of it, Khem was probably more capable than I was of keeping it well in hand- I raised my saber. “As some would have said back home: ‘Those who see their own doom can better avoid it. Those that see the doom of others can deliver it.’ I’ve seen what Zash wants to be my doom, and I’ve seen hers. And yours.”

My piece said, more than said really, I ignited my lightsaber, stepped forward and slightly to the side, and beheaded Skotia as he gathered himself and surged to his feet in an attempt to turn the tables. I never would have taken him to be the type to try playing possum, blunt instrument as he had always seemed to be, but he’d been too damaged for it to do him any good.

Thank God for that too, because weakened or not, I wasn’t interested in fighting a Darth that was so far beyond me physically as things stood now.

Skotia’s severed head hit the durasteel floor with a meaty thud, rolling to a stop against the leg of his desk, and I stood there for a moment as I contemplated just how easy that had all been. Certainly easier than it had been in game, unless you’d been over-leveled and over-geared for the fight. Of course, the game had been -for all its cutscenes and heavy focus on story- meant to be played, so perhaps the fact that in ‘real life’ the device had weakened him far more significantly than in the game made sense. After all, Zash would have made sure that the device would render him essentially helpless, otherwise she’d risk losing her replacement skin-suit.

“Weak, indeed,” Khem rumbled after a moment, sounding thoroughly pleased, and more then a little contemptuous, as tendrils of dark energy began to unspool from the corpse and drift toward him like smoke caught in a draft. “The Force remembers those who scorn it. The Force will not miss one who mocks it.”

“Feast up, big guy. We don’t have all day.” I turned away from the sight of my companion as he began to consume the Force essence of the dead man. Not because it bothered me particularly grievously —God knew I’d seen worse since waking up in this body, and it wasn’t like Skotia could become one with it given his general demeanor— but because someone would definitely have sensed the death of a Sith of Skotia’s power and I really didn’t want to be here whenever someone mustered up the strength to investigate what happened.

Instead, I took a brief look around the room. I had a few things on hand that would most certainly tip the scales in my favor a bit, both in preparing for Zash and for dealing with everything that would come before her. One of the most prominent and spectacular being a little drive that Mako had given me. A little drive with a little worm -the brainchild of Mako and Vriska together- that would have a not-so-little job to do.

Making my way over to his desk, and pulling on the gloves that I had prepared for just such an occasion as this, I pushed his chair out of the way and plugged the worm-drive into Skotia’s terminal. It went to work immediately and automatically, of course, his screen glitching out briefly before faint lines of code started running across it. Not particularly subtle, of course, but given that the girls had know that Skotia would be dead before I went around plugging things into his computer, they probably figured they could spare themselves a bit of time and effort on making something sufficiently dramatic.

Coding geeks!

At any rate, it started making progress very quickly, searching through his files with someone resembling an artificial intelligence and grabbing any data that it thought -based on the parameters it had been given- would be important to me. Files that Zash could, potentially, delete after taking control of his effects, which probably meant that I very much needed to make sure I had copies for myself. Of course, it wasn’t only any such files that I was after, either, and I checked my datapad -a spare, not my primary, and heavily encrypted by the girls- and smiled in distinct satisfaction as I saw various bank accounts -all terribly deniable of course- increasing in value as my worm ferreted out his equally deniable assets and transferred them to me. Not all of it, Zash would be incredibly and justifiably suspicious if she didn’t find herself substantially enriched by taking Skotia’s things for herself, but at least I wouldn’t be relying on a shoe-string budget whenever I was away from Nicky’s side.

Not that I couldn’t use her credits wherever and whenever I damn well pleased, of course, that went without saying. I just preferred to be at least moderately independent of my sugar mommy’s generosity. Or would she be my sugar wife? Sugar submissive? What would be the right term here? Hmm, maybe I could set all of my girls onto the question sometime, though I’d probably have to explain the concept to them. Exchanging sex for favors or gifts wasn’t something that would be considered unusual in the least in the Empire, so the idea that there would be any sort of special term for it would probably strike all of them as more than a little strange.

Setting the notion of terminology aside for later —much later, given the ever-growing list of “later” items I kept accumulating and its admitted insignificance on the galactic scale— I turned my attention to the physical space around me, giving the room a proper once-over while the worm continued its quiet work.

It was definitely a spacious room, and it seemed that for all his obsession with turning himself into a droid he had both decent taste in decor -relatively speaking, of course, decent taste amongst the Sith usually being a low bar to clear- and an interest in the finer things. Such as…oh my, oh my, oh my, were those what I thought they were?

Getting to my feet, I made my way over to his rather impressive liquor cabinet, my eyes locked on a few particular bottles in a place of pride. Three pairs of bottles, each pair representing a planet, each bottle representing something similar and yet diametrically opposed to it’s sibling.

The cabinet swung open at my approach, and I ran my fingers near-reverently over the labels. Korriban, Alderaan, Coruscant. Each bottle representing a great victory for each side and a devastating loss for the other. Korriban’s fall and scouring, and its liberation. Some of them made for the Empire…and some of them, I knew, pried from the hands -likely cold and dead, knowing Skotia- of the Republicans that created them as a sign of triumph over that same Empire.

These bottles were quite literally priceless, and I knew in an instant that there was a sub-zero chance that I was leaving them for someone else to claim. I’d need something to carry them in, but if I had to tear a tapestry from the walls and make a baby-sling out of it to do so, I damn well would. Though I had to admit that I really hoped it wouldn’t come to that, and I set about searching the room for a better option.

A padded case, meant for transporting several very delicate things -cybernetics, maybe, or some other manner of loot-, sat half-tucked beneath an ornate table along the far wall, empty but for a nest of foam padding that looked like it could cradle a bit of glassware without much of a rattle. Perfect. I claimed it promptly, and the bottles went in one by one, wrapped carefully enough in a bit of spare cloth that I found folded nearby that I didn’t have to worry about chipping the crystal.

That done, I turned back to the terminal, where the little worm was just about finished doing what I needed it to do. A soft ping came from the computer a moment later, another from my datapad right on it’s heels, and I scampered over -scampered!- with my newest prize over to claim my ever-so-slightly-older one. Plucking the drive out and stepping around the desk, I slapped Khem on the shoulder as I passed him by.

“Come on, Khem. Time to beat feet while the beating is good. Let’s report in to the witch and get home to the girls.”

He grunted in acknowledgement, falling in at my heels as I followed my own advice, and I didn’t try to restrain the pep in my step.

I was alive, I had some neat new stuff, and Zash would be none the wiser that I was continuing to put my own pieces into place.

###############################################################################################################

Kory had completed every task that she had been given, and in record time. Barely a couple of days had passed since she’d first been sent to meet with the Revanites by her mistress, and she had done everything that they had asked of them, while growing in ability and technique the entire time. Their order, it seemed, was far less reluctant to provide her with further training than the Sith would have been, and while she would have rather not make herself more of a Sith and had no interest in being anything resembling a fighter or a soldier, she was willing to make herself more useful to Vestara in whatever way was deemed required.

Besides, she wasn’t willing to be a burden. If she had ability, she’d use it as best she could, and hope that she never needed to.

She wasn’t going to lie, though, the idea of returning home to Vestara and being praised -being rewarded- for her devotion, her loyalty, was a heady thing. One that had grown stronger with every success, every begrudging approval from Dzoun and the other Revanites she had recieved directives from. She’d even made tentative friendships with a few, the Mandalorians most particularly. Their people didn’t care, after all, about what someone had been born as, only what they made of themselves. And many of the Mandalorians on Dromuund Kaas remembered all too well the stories of Vestara Khai, with most being all-too-willing to exchange stories of their own to hear more of the former slave that was rising so high, so fast, and had -to their great interest- been seen in the company of perhaps their most famous member’s daughter.

The Sons and Daughters of Mandalore knew Shae Vizla very well, after all, for her part during the Sack of Coruscant, the Burning of Alderaan, and countless other pivotal battles besides. Anyone that such a woman’s daughter deemed worthwhile company would be someone worth learning about, above and beyond any other cause of interest Vestara might have to them.

It was with all of these thoughts swirling through her mind that Dzoun found her munching on a ration bar and told her that The Master wished to speak with her again. A half-bow, a quick swallow, and a murmur of confirmation of thanks was her reply, and she dusted the crumbs off of herself as she rose to her feet and try to avoid letting any of her sudden nerves show on her face. Following the older man across the camp, she was surprised to see that he lead her not to the largest one, the ‘command center’ as he had before, but instead to a smaller and more intimate one.

“Master. Kory is here.” he announced, rapping his knuckles lightly on one of the tentpoles in the closest approximation to a door-knock that he could make under such circumstances, and a muffled voice from within responded.

“Send her in, Dzoun, and see to the rest of your duties.”

“Yes, Master.” he confirmed, before turning his eyes to Kory. “In you go, and remember to show due respect.”

The tent flap fell shut behind her as she passed through it, cutting off the muted sounds of the camp, to find the hooded -but maskless- figure of Tari Darkspanner sitting in a chair behind a small desk-and-terminal. She gestured towards the only other piece of furniture that the space held, another chair that was set directly in front of her desk.

“Sit.” Not quite a command, not quite an invitation, but Kory promptly sat herself on, spine straight. The other woman considered her for a long moment, contemplatively, before continuing. “You’ve done well these past days. Better than I expected from a girl who is here by command, rather than her own will.”

“Thank you.” Kory kept her voice even, though her mouth turned down slightly at the corners. “But you misunderstand my relationship with my mistress. Serving her to the best of my abilities is my will, and she respects my desires. If I had insisted on it, she would not have sent me here. I’m here because I want to be here, and I want to be here because she needs me to be here, and I love her.”

Tari’s brow arched, a flicker of something —skepticism, maybe, or the faint edge of amusement— crossing her weathered features. “Love.” She said the word like she was trying to decide if it was a joke or not, or maybe just the delusional boast of a child. “You’ll forgive me if I find that a strange word to use for the woman who put a collar on your throat. Even if it’s a gilded one.” Her gaze dropped, briefly, to the modest choker Kory still wore beneath her collar of armor, the mark of ownership she’d never once thought to hide. “You have middling strength in the Force, girl. I’ve watched you train, watched you push yourself past the point most would give up, and still you barely equal half of the youngest Initiates in our Order. So tell me plainly: why? Why fight so hard for her, why risk your life on these trials for her sake? You say you love her, but what has she done to earn such devotion? You want her and I to work together to make the Empire better? Convince me of her nature.”

“She saved me.” was how Kory decided to start her reply, the simplest and most honest answer, a faint and warm smile creasing her lips as she thought back to the day that they had met. “We met on the shuttle to Korriban, and one of the first things that she did was flirt with me. It was ridiculous, absurd, and I was enamored almost immediately. She was honest with me, too. Told me I didn’t have what it took to be Sith, that I didn’t have the temperment to be Sith, but she promised to keep me alive. I’d had every belief, even intention, of dying on that dustball, but she wouldn’t let me. She nearly died so many times, protecting me, and argued with Lord Zash on my behalf as well. She doesn’t rape me, or beat me, or hurt me. Doesn’t use me as a tool and throw me away when she’s done. She gives me what I want, what I need, and takes her pleasure from that. She protects me, holds me, and makes me feel the safest I’ve ever felt in my life.”

She shook her head, smile growing in both size and warmth.

“You’re right. I might not be able to fight by her side on a battlefield like Balmorra, but she doesn’t need me to. I might not be able to destroy an army for her or call down a storm for her, but she doesn’t need me to. I might not be the most beautiful woman in the Empire, either, but she doesn’t need me to be. But what I can do, I will do, because I love her. So, I keep her bed warm, offer everything I have, give her whatever she needs, and do what I can to prove -through my own actions, my own service- that Vestara is worthy of respect, of being listened to, of being allied with. Vestara Khai is the brightest star in the sky, and I truly believe that the Empire can chart a better course for itself and for the galaxy if they let her light guide them.”

Tari was quiet for a long moment, studying her with dark, tired eyes, and Kory prided herself in how well she maintained her poise under that scrutiny. A side-effect that she wouldn’t have expected from the training she had recieved at her lover’s hands, the exquisite tortures she was so often exposed to.

“A pretty speech, and one that you obviously mean every single word of.” Tari said finally, and to Kory’s surprise there was no mockery to the words, not really, only a kind of worn consideration. “But you still haven’t answered the heart of my question, girl. You are not strong. You are not well-trained, not compared to what she could have found elsewhere, women and men both who could stand at her side in battle and be of true use to her ambitions. So why you? Why does she keep you close, trust you with errands like this? Because you owe her your life, and she holds that leash firmly? Because the leverage that that gives her is so absolute, and she relies on that leverage instead of your strength?”

“No.” Kory shook her head firmly, meeting Tari’s eyes without flinching, letting some of the indignation she felt at the slight to Vestara show on her face. “She’s never once used my life against me, never used the debt I owe her to force me to obey. If I told her tomorrow that I wanted to leave, wanted my freedom papers and passage off-world, she would give them to me. She’s told me so, more than once, and I believe her because she’s never lied to me.” She paused, choosing her next words with care. “She doesn’t need that leverage over me, and she never will. I give her my loyalty freely, happily, every single day. And I do that because every single day she gives me a reason to. She could have leashed me, the way you’re saying the words, if she wanted. Easily. But she didn’t. She made me choose her, over and over and over again, and I will keep choosing her because she has earned it.”

“…you are a very unusual girl.” Tari shook her head slightly, something vaguely related to a soft huff of laughter leaving her lips, before she leaned forward on her desk and rested her chin on her folded hands. “So, you are here at her behest, because she has foreseen things in the future -near and far alike- that she believes could and should be prevented? Because she appreciates our Order, our foundational beliefs, and believes we can and should help her do so?”

“Exactly, yes. The next few years she says -and don’t bother asking me for further details, I wasn’t given them and I don’t want them until I need them- will be particularly brutal, and if we’re not wise with how we move forward, entire star systems will burn. She believes that working with you will save countless lives, including your own and those of your followers.” Kory confirmed, repeating more-or-less word-for-word what Vestara had told her, and Darkspanner arched an eyebrow at her before humming.

“Very well, then. Inform your mistress that I will meet with her, in my own time and through my own methods. She and I will discuss these visions of hers, and where she sees the Order of Revan as a result.” she announced, rising to her feet, and Kory automatically rose with her, heart thrumming. One hand was thrust her way, the invitation clear, and as Kory shook it as firmly as she thought appropriate, Tari smiled ever so slightly. “I hope you’re right, Kory. For all its faults, I love this nation of ours. If your mistress can help me cure what ails it and preserve it, I will work with her gladly.”

“I am right. You’ll see.” Kory promised her fiercly, before taking the nonverbal dismissal for what it was and leaving the tent with a bit of gleeful bounce to her step. She’d done it! She’d swayed a secret order that was growing in power at least partially to her mistress’ side, accomplishing the task that had been given to her and doing her very best to be of help to the woman she loved in away that mattered on more than just the personal level.

She had never felt so happy in her life than she did in this moment.