He had laid himself completely bare to her; scars and all-- then peeled off his own skin and ripped open his own ribcage to offer her the deepest thing he could offer her: his soul. She had cradled it and breathed warmth into it... and then destroye...
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"take you down another level. and got you dancing with the devil."
Giedi Prime, 10185
Sleep eluded Leonara like a plague. The expanse of her bed, once a sanctuary, now mocked her with its vastness, a yawning chasm of solitude. The chamber, too refined, too meticulously arranged, felt like a stage set for a performance she had not rehearsed. In the embrace of Chapterhouse, the warmth of her sisters had been her solace, their presence a familiar melody in the symphony of her existence. Here, in this opulent but alien enclave, she was adrift, a solitary voyager navigating unfamiliar currents.
She considered seeking the Reverend Mother, then dismissed the thought. Weakness was for other women, the ones still at the Chapterhouse; the ones that hadn't been picked. Leonara had been tempered in a far harsher crucible, and now was not the time to show any sign of similarity to them.
Dressing swiftly, she concealed a slender blade within the folds of her garments—a precaution learned through harsh experience in the unforgiving crucible of Chapterhouse. With each step she took, the soft cadence of her footfalls echoed through the silent corridors, a whispered counterpoint to the nocturnal symphony outside.
Overhead, a canopy of glass revealed a panorama of moonlit splendor, casting spectral patterns upon the polished floors below. Through towering windows, the city sprawled in silent repose, its jagged skyline a testament to human ingenuity and ambition. Yet, beneath its surface, Leonara sensed a pulse—an undercurrent of secrets and machinations that eluded her grasp.
Why had they summoned her here so early—years before her binding to the Na-Baron? The question gnawed at her, insistent and sharp as desert grit against the mind. Accident? No. Nothing about the Bene Gesserit was accidental.
With each circuit of the hallway, Leonara sought answers that remained stubbornly elusive. The shadows danced around her, whispering half-truths and tantalizing fragments of revelation. Yet, for all her efforts, the puzzle remained unsolved, its enigmatic allure drawing her ever deeper into its labyrinthine depths.
Leonara heart raced as she caught sight of something. In the glass reflection, she saw something standing behind her. Someone. Someone taller than her by at least a foot.
Her pulse did not quicken; she simply let her awareness sharpen to a blade's edge. Her hand slid toward her dagger, fingers finding the hilt with practiced ease. She pivoted sharply, weapon raised— and came face-to-face with a man.
The blade met his throat.
And still, he did not flinch.
His face was half-devoured by shadow, yet what the darkness spared was devastating. Smooth, unmarred skin. Striking symmetry. No hair, like the others of this world—yet on him, it lent an austere, almost predatory beauty. He carried an aura the servants lacked. Power radiated from him, subtle but unmistakable. This man did not belong to the ranks who scurried unseen through the stronghold.
