Second Fiddle

Posted on Sat Apr 25th, 2026 @ 11:26am by Melliah Glynt & Amare

2,098 words; about a 10 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IX: The First Verse
Location: Unknown, Cult of Axion Enclave
Timeline: Unclear - after Sleheyron

The silence of the chamber offered a glimpse of relief for Amare. Between the torture, interrogation and indoctrination, the silence was her friend. In brief moments of lucidity, her mind could wander away from this place and revisit times of triumph, times of hardship, times where she was simply 'Amare'.

Yet, interspersed were memories of her other life that intruded upon her: the naïve face of Zaracoda Wolph returned to her at times of weakness. A foolish life of ignorance with a family of charlatans. Playing at being ordinary and condemning her to a lesser life.

Amare had liberated that young woman. Then why did she return to taunt her now? Even facing death in this place, was not the life of a Sith better than a hostage, a wife, a slave?

"Little flame..." the low feminine voice stung the air like a bittersweet melody, "Look what has become of you?"

Amare's head tilted only a fraction at the acknowledgement, following the deep red robe up to see the half smile below those hidden eyes.

Mistress Glynt stood before her, a damp cloth in hand, which she proceeded to dap onto Amare's forehead.

"Let me take a look at you, my dear," she withdrew the cloth and steadied Amare's shoulders with her hands, "Well, it could be worse."

She released her and the Nautolan swung back gently as Glynt wringed the cloth out.

"You know, I was quite happy where I was on Alderaan before you and your beastly companions came," Glynt exhaled sharply, "I had a place in the Galaxy where I could simply be. Exerting Axion's will, yes, but on my own terms."

She turned, a passion growing as her sightless gaze burrowed into Amare, "But back here, among the others, I exist in this state of perpetual competition. Who does his favour fall on today? Who embodies his virtues the most?"

She cast the cloth down into the bucket at her feet with defiance.

"It's suffocating!" she hissed, before turning around and embodying that icy sweetness once more, "But you would know all about that: always just a hair's breadth away from the golden girl."

She chuckled to herself and Amare felt her drawing near as she spoke, "The child with the different skin to her parents and brother, the wife that gave her husband the child he desired only to drain its life, the favoured brothel plaything until someone decided they wanted a little too much..."

She lingered before she spoke the last words, "The shining apprentice that could never eclipse her master's chosen brother..."

Amare's tone was dismissive and full of contempt, "Sounds like you have it all figured out. If you want to treat me, I would prefer the silent treatment. Or you could release me, and I could reacquaint you with my fists again."

Glynt huffed, some of the charm leaving her voice, "Well then, it is a good thing that your 'preference' does not factor into it, child."

She paced to a panel on the far wall.

"Why don't you just SIT DOWN!" she barked the last words as she wrenched a control and Amare's chains suddenly extended from the attached crank and sent her violently towards the ground where she collapsed with a blunt thud on the stone.

"And listen..." Glynt continued, the sweetness returning as she paced back towards Amare, shaking her red hair as though dismissing the nasty thoughts, "It's story time."

Amare was still chained, her arms hanging uncomfortably upright, while the rest of her body sprawled on the ground. Glynt knelt down close to her - if she had eyes, they would have pierced her with the sharpest glare, while her mouth bent upwards in a savage smile.

"Here's one you should have heard but silly you has forgotten: a long time ago on the shipwright world of Corellia, there lived a handsome Nautolan businessman," she began before stopping abruptly with a little chuckle, "Actually, I'm not sure if he was handsome, but it doesn't matter for the story. Well, this businessman... he lived in a tall, glittering tower in the city. A tower of transparisteel and credits and contracts; the kind of place where people pretend they are safe because the walls are expensive."

She traced a finger idly along Amare’s cheek, not touching, just hovering, as though outlining a shape only she could see.

"He was clever, this Nautolan. Clever enough to make deals with cartels and syndicates and all the little monsters who hide behind polite business titles. Clever enough to buy anything he wanted."

Her smile sharpened.

"And one day, he decided he wanted a wife."

Glynt’s tone dipped lower, softer, almost fond.

"Not a partner. Not an equal. A possession. A pretty thing he could dress up and parade around his tower. Someone who would cook and clean and smile and never, ever leave."

She leaned in closer, her breath warm against Amare’s skin.

"And he found her. A young woman with beautiful dark eyes and a quiet voice. She worked hard. She obeyed. She tried so very, very much to be what he wanted."

She paused, lips curling even more so Amare caught a glimpse of her teeth.

"But the businessman forgot something important. Pretty things break."

Glynt’s fingers paced along the floor, like a spider slinking silently towards Amare.

"One day, the young wife gave him a child. A perfect little Nautolan boy. Oh, how proud the businessman was. How he preened. How he boasted. How he believed the universe had rewarded him."

Her fingers stopped and her grin vanished in an instant. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"But the child died."

The words hung in the air like a blade suspended by a thread.

"Died in his birthing water. Died in his mother’s arms. Died because something inside her, something she did not understand, reached out and took the life it had just created."

Glynt tilted her head, suddenly her tone rougher. Disapproving.

"The businessman was furious, of course. Blamed her. Men like him always do. He raised his hand to strike her, to kill her, to punish her for a tragedy she could not even remember properly."

A slow smile crept back across her lips.

"And then... do you know what happened next, little flame?"

Rage and sorrow intermixed in Amare as Glynt spoke to her, rising with each word lighting a spiritual fire into her hearts and finally when the question was asked, she shouted in madness, "The bastard got what he deserved!"

Her breaths were deep and rapid, and then the rage faded as quickly as it came and she was shaking her head in tears, knowing that her abusive husband's end gave her no comfort. It wouldn't bring back the life of the daughter she killed.

"Please, I beg you...help me forget that night!" Amare pleaded through bleary tear-filled eyes and sobs. "My personal life shouldn't matter to you or anyone. I just...I want to move on, or die...I don't care. Your master is probably going to kill me anyway. I just don't want to be that girl anymore, or whatever Thane said I could be. I just want to meet my fate and be done with it. No more of this...just get to your point and be done with it, damn you!"

The corners of Glynt's mouth dropped and she answered with poisonous direction:

"Is that what you asked her to do too?" she spat, "Your weak-willed mother was a fool to grant you such a request. Or perhaps... she feared what you might become."

She shot a hand forward, red nails pinching Amare's jawline.

"You are right: he did deserve it!" she snarled, "But forgetting it only makes his power over you complete! It reduces you so your next master can start the cycle all over again."

She pushed Amare’s head aside and rose to her full height, the red robe cascading around her like a curtain of blood.

"Fortunately, I am not your mother. I am something much better..." She leaned over, her voice dropping into a velvet whisper, "I am your mirror."

She began to circle Amare slowly, fingertips hovering near her skin, tracing the outline of a person she intended to expose.

"I am the one who speaks to you without flinching. The one who does not soften the truth or hide it behind love or pity. I show you what you are, little flame, not what you pretend to be."

The captive Nautolan turned her face away from Glynt, finding it very uncomfortable to look at someone so manipulative and lacking eyes to read.

"No," Amare retorted in utter exhaustion with a sigh. "You're wrong. We're not mirrors of each other. There's nothing between us. If anything, I would say Nala is my mirror. Two Nautolan women, both gifted with dark abilities, and each with a human master. That can't be a coincidence. It's almost like the Force is mocking me...or her. Maybe the Force wants to see which of us is better than the other. She might be stronger, but at least my looks surpass her garbage scow mess of a face."

Glynt let out a soft, derisive huff.

"And they call me blind?"

She tilted her head, the red hood shifting as she regarded Amare like a sightless crimson demon.

"Looking only at surface comparisons… species, circumstance? How very small of you."

She leaned in, her voice dropping into that velvet‑smooth cadence she used when she wanted her words to sink like hooks.

"Nala may echo your form, but she does not echo your fire. I saw what you unleashed on Sleheyron: that was more than just survival instinct or Sith magic. That was the power to break chains."

Glynt straightened, brushing imaginary dust from her robe as though the topic bored her.

"But enough reminders of what we already know, I wish to know more of your poor little mind."

She circled Amare again.

"I am surprised, little flame. I thought all memory of that night had been taken from you," her tone softened into something almost curious, "Tell me: did you re-awaken that memory yourself or... did she return it to you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Amare replied with an annoyed huff, too exhausted to care, and loathing each passing moment in Glynt's haughty presence. "I'm not in control here. You've been in my head. You should know more than I. And this 'little flame' term you keep throwing at me. Not gonna lie, it's awful weird. Sounds like something a mother would say to her child. Maybe that's what you should do. Walk away from this and start a family. I'm sure there's a crazy warlord or a Hutt out there somewhere that would do you quite nicely."

Glynt went still.

The smile vanished. The sweetness drained from her voice, leaving only a thin, dangerous quiet.

"So that is your answer," she murmured, "Mockery. Deflection. The refuge of a tiny, frightened child."

She rose slowly, the red robe whispering around her like a curtain of blood.

"I offered you my guidance. My protection. A place in this nest of vipers where you might have survived to feel Axion's full glory," her blind gaze fixed on Amare with uncanny precision, "And you spit on it."

A coldness entered her tone: not anger, but a final verdict.

"Very well. Without me, you will suffer more than you can yet imagine. Axion’s disciples will tear you apart for sport. I was offering you shelter and you refused."

She lifted a hand, fingers poised as though plucking invisible threads.

"If you will not be shaped…", her voice dropped to a velvet whisper, "…you will be hollowed."

The pressure hit Amare’s mind like a spike. Sigils burst across her vision: red, jagged, spiralling. Axion’s all too familiar glyphs burned themselves into her awareness, searing through thought and memory alike. The triangle glyph appeared first, glowing beneath her skin, then the lines beneath it, branching like fractures in glass. Her arm felt hot, branded, though no flame touched her.

Glynt leaned close, her breath warm against Amare’s cheek.

"Remember this," she whispered. "Every time you see that mark, you will remember what defiance costs."

She straightened, turning away without another glance.

"When you are ready to stop pretending, I will return...little flame."

And then she was gone, leaving Amare trembling on the stone floor, the sigil still burning in her mind’s eye.

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