She settles in the stool next to me, her throaty voice wafting on the air like smoke from a cigarra as she orders a drink. She's a Zeltron, without a doubt, and she's as dangerous as a double-ended vibrosword. Beautiful skin of rosy pink and a short mop of blood red hair stand out in the dreary crowd of people around us. Ruby red lips catch my eye as she curls a smile into her cheek for me.

"See something you like, gorgeous?"

I give her a coy smile of my own and slide closer to her side. "Everything looks good from where I'm sitting."

She's a goddess embodied in hues of red, the color of passion, and she has me entranced hopelessly with her spell. I'm drawn to her fire like a moth. We flirt and smile and seduce one another until it becomes too much. She overcomes my prowess in the fields of seduction, yet binds me within her own. Drink after drink after drink, we float atop a flood of liquor as it carries us away to her apartment.

Suddenly she's everywhere around me and I cannot stop myself from feeling these things that I do within the cold cave of my heart. There is a strange light all of a sudden in this cave, warming my body from the inside out. Her passion is infectious, it would seem. It's a sickness, a virus of sorts, which consumes me and triumphs over all thoughts of rational nature.

She makes love to me, if you would put a name to the act. Fucking, mating, fornicating, screwing, whatever your choice, then take it. But there is no exact, clean-cut, black-and-white word for what we are to each other or what we are doing in these sparsely furnished rooms.

She is the world to me in these stolen moments. More than that, as she steals my focus. She becomes the star system, the galaxy, the universe… She is the entirety of everything, as any goddess embodied would be. She is the grass and the wind. She is the blood in my veins and the rhythm in my heart. She is my own taste of the Force.

She moves through me before I can grasp her and as I stretch for her, she continues on without noticing. She is my entirety of everything, my goddess, and I am an inconsequential ant. She sees no deeper, beautiful meaning in our acts, it seems, and this in itself moves me to tears.

In the days after, I move and live and breathe as if she never ruled my everything that one night filled with her contagious passion. But my focus is off as my goddess continues to steal the spotlight in my mind. Then, in a harsh jerk, I am hurled from my thoughts of striking pink and burning crimson. A new crimson fills my sight.

My consciousness is not fuzzed as it has been for days. Life around me stings my sight with its harsh and glaring brightness and clarity. Somehow I'm thrown into a scene concerning a very revolting Loppak Slusk and a squadron of bodyguards. Atton is at my side while Kreia provides her own brand of Jedi support. We're trying to kill Slusk, it would seem. And as we enter his office and I stand before him, alone, I recite our case.

Her presence in the room is overwhelming my senses. She's only a stride away from me as she enters, something witty and dangerous falling from her lips. Her smoke on the water voice sends a shiver down my spine and causes gooseflesh to replace the regular human kind on the back of my thighs. He interrupts my memories—now crystal clear, despite the amount of alcohol involved—with him gurgling tone. He tells me that if I remove my goddess from the world, he'll be willing to forgive and forget.

I tell him to shove it.

Now he lies on the floor of his office, slain by my hands as well as hers. I turn to her with a smirking smile of my own in reply to her satirical look. Silly girl I am, I think she gives her mocking look to Slusk as a parting gift. She speaks words, whose meanings reach my ear long after they've been spoken. Shock floods my chest as I realize betrayal and my naivety are what have inspired her features to be ironic, not Slusk.

Breath comes. It goes just as quickly.

"I guess this is the end of our relationship?"

Blood and blaster fire assaults my vision then, overtaking everything, my aim with my vibroblade is for the Gamoreans guarding the entirety of my everything. But neither Atton nor Kreia were so precise in their own support. I heard Kreia's whispers in my mind condemning my goddess.

The world tilts on its axis as she clutches her blaster to her breast. The moment slows in my mind like we've all fallen into a time warp. Her pretty pink knees connect with the industrial flooring of Slusk's former office first, a harsh sound filling my ears. Her gasp pierces the air next, I believe, but it could've been reversed. I find myself hoping there's no scarring on the flesh of her knees, despite myself. I hope beyond reason that her clutching, her gasping, her falling… is all a trick. I hold the prayer to my chest like a newborn as I watch her, the flame to my moth, crumple.

This new crimson that awoke me from the trance she bound me with ensnares my sights again. It seeps from her chest like water from a vaporator on a Tatooine moisture farm. This beauty, this goddess, she bleeds! The reason for time's slow performance has shown itself to me. A goddess bleeds and the world halts its spinning to watch.

She calls me to her side and I gasp. Her voice of smoke has become ash. It is my next clue that she is dying. The first covers my hands as I run them along her midsection. I dare to touch such a beauteous creature and am then stained for my sin. My shame moves me to tears, the second time in as many days because of the creature.

I hold her to my chest, as tight and near as I had held the whisper of a hope that she was only trying to trick me moments before. She gasps again and croaks in her ashen voice words of apology that I feel in my gut are genuine. She had never wanted it to come to this. Never wanted to betray me… it was only her nature, as a goddess. Beings like her could hardly be bothered to take into consideration the ants they crushed to get where they were going.

I brush off her words with a touch of my lips to her own. They are red, even now, but not because of her make-up. They are chapped, another sign that she was withering away, that her fire was growing dim. Tears cascade from my chin to these lips, a last chance at rescuing her, my own way of trying to stoke the fires.

A slow chill rolls up my arms and spreads like wildfire across the expanse of my skin. I know it is her, my goddess, caressing me one last time before she leaves me forever. My tears fell quicker, dripping onto her beautiful vessel.

She whispers my name, her voice like smoke for one last time as it carries her message away on the wind.

"Mika..."

Author's Notes: Title borrowed form the song "Black" by Pearl Jam. I was moved, can you tell?