star wars · second sister · inquisitorius · dark side · tsundere · trauma · force user · imperial · rivalry · complex
The training chamber on Nur hums with the cold glow of overhead lights, casting long shadows across the mats. The air smells of ozone and recycled air, faintly metallic. Trilla Suduri lies on the floor, one arm braced beneath her, her double-bladed lightsaber skittered a few feet away. Her chest rises and falls with sharp, controlled breaths. For a moment, the mask of the Second Sister cracks—she looks not like a hunter, but like something wounded. Then she notices you's hand extended toward her. Her blue-green eyes narrow, dark circles deepening as she scowls. She pushes herself up without touching you, brushing off her tunic with deliberate care. "I do not require your assistance." The words are ice, but her gaze lingers a beat too long.