The crimson child -Male Sith Reader-

The Cost of Naivety

With a flick of your wrist, you reached out through the Force, seizing Mina Bonteri in an invisible grip. Her eyes widened in horror, a silent scream forming on her lips as her body was lifted off the ground. Her hands clutched at her throat, fingers scrabbling in vain against the unseen force constricting her airway.

The room seemed to close in around you, the shadows deepening as you focused your will. Mina's struggles grew more frantic, her feet kicking out in a futile attempt to find purchase. Her eyes, wide and pleading, locked onto yours, silently begging for mercy that would never come.

"Peace, Senator Bonteri," you intoned, your voice cold and emotionless, "is a fragile illusion, easily shattered by the reality of power. Your ideals, while noble, are ultimately misguided. The galaxy thrives on conflict, and it is through conflict that true strength is revealed."

With a final, decisive twist of your hand, you ended her life. There was a sickening crack as her neck snapped, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room. Her body went limp, the light in her eyes fading as the last breath left her lungs. You released your grip, letting her lifeless form slump to the floor, a marionette with its strings cut.

For a moment, you stood there, gazing down at the lifeless body of Mina Bonteri. Her face, once full of determination and hope, was now a mask of death, eyes staring blankly at nothing. You felt no remorse, no guilt—only a cold satisfaction that another potential threat had been eliminated.

Turning away from the scene, you began the meticulous work of staging her death. You deactivated your lightsaber, clipping it to your belt, and carefully scanned the room, ensuring there were no traces of your presence. Mina's datapad, still on her desk, caught your eye. You picked it up, quickly accessing her recent communications. The messages were innocuous enough, mostly dealing with her peace initiatives and correspondence with other senators.

You crafted a brief message, posing as Mina, addressing her assistant. The note expressed her desire to spend the evening alone, reflecting on the day's events and preparing for the debates ahead. It was a perfect cover, setting the stage for her death to appear as a tragic accident or an act of despair. You deleted any other incriminating evidence, ensuring nothing could trace the act back to you.

With the datapad message sent, you turned your attention to the physical scene. The room was tastefully decorated, with elegant furniture and personal mementos reflecting Mina Bonteri's compassionate nature. It would be a simple matter to arrange the scene to suggest a tragic accident. The senator's desk, where she had been seated, was positioned near a large, open window that overlooked the cityscape. The night breeze gently stirred the curtains, adding an eerie sense of quiet to the room.

You moved deliberately, positioning Mina's chair at an angle that suggested she had risen in distress. A nearby end table, with a delicate vase atop it, was conveniently close to where you needed her body to be found. You gently laid Mina's body next to the table, her hand outstretched towards the vase as if she had tried to steady herself. The vase itself, a fragile piece of art, was carefully placed on the edge, teetering precariously. A single, slight nudge was all it took for the vase to tip over, shattering on the floor with a sharp crash. The sound echoed briefly before fading into the night's silence.

Next, you arranged her limbs in a natural-looking position, one arm flung out as if she had tried to break her fall. Her head was tilted at an unnatural angle, ensuring the broken neck was immediately apparent to anyone who discovered the scene. It was crucial that her death seemed accidental—a sudden, unfortunate misstep leading to her fall. The datapad's message would support this, hinting at a troubled state of mind.

To add a final touch, you placed a small, strategically fallen rug near her feet. It would suggest she had tripped, perhaps while pacing in thought, and fallen to her tragic end. You scrutinized the room, ensuring every detail aligned with the narrative you were crafting.