There are few stories that are told among the Jedi Order long enough to become myth. Legend. It takes importance to stand the test of time that way. A lesson has to be learned.
Anakin and Circe's story is told for generations long after they are go...
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Phaedris is not unkind.
He takes Circe far from the Separatist ship, or Coruscant, or Anakin. At first, she tries reaching out with the Force. Searching for anything that might give her a clue to her location, but there are no other life forms to sense, no landmarks, just Phaedris.
He feels cold and analytical. He has a cunning edge that makes her shiver from down in her small space. There's something rough and manufactured about him, more similar to a droid than a human. Where Anakin is smooth and warm all over, Phaedris is jagged. Pieces of him missing, probably hidden away by his own talent in the Force, give Circe a sense of loss, and confusion. Perhaps she can use this against him.
"Come on out, Lady Jedi," He calls, opening the heavy metal hatch above her.
She glares up at him, climbing out of the hole and putting distance between them.
The ship's door is open behind him and she wastes no time running for it. He lets her pass, and outside, she's furious to find that she's surrounded by more walls. Not quite as small, though. They're the walls of a giant structure, its ceiling towering far above her head. To her right, a blue, shimmering screen in the only thing between her and the swallowing blackness of space.
"You've nowhere to go, especially not when you're unarmed. Follow me, I'm sure your head hurts from being bested by my droids," He calls, heading for a hallway to the right.
She grimaces. She wasn't bested. The droids faked a retreat and caught her off guard. That's cheating.
The hallway is well lit, its white walls reminding Circe of a hospital or a medbay. Too much white. Phaedris' eyes—save the yellow that streaks through them, like gold running through marble—his hair, the walls. Though it's the same as her own hair, she begins to despise the bright color. She longs for warm tans and browns, the walls in the Temple, Anakin's curls, the color of land.
She tries to look for something that can help her but every room they pass is empty. The building is a labyrinth, and it seems that Phaedris is the only one who inhabits it.
"I'm not lonely, don't worry," He voices, "I don't mind being alone. I'm rarely here anyways."
Circe had forgotten that her mind is open to others fluent in the Force. Without Anakin prying into her thoughts, and Obi-Wan being generally respectful of her privacy, she's never had to monitor her inner monologue.
She has to be more careful.
"I'm not surprised you don't stay here often. This place is more of a prison than a home," She says coldly, keeping an edge in her tone out of spite.
Her words seem to bother him, much to her surprise. She's unused to her enemies reacting so carelessly in front of her. He's just a boy after all, seemingly untrained in hiding his reactions from others. He really is alone. Or he wouldn't have given up his annoyance so easily. That might be the way to break him down. Preying on his solitude.
