Tara stares at Myitt and Jeffrey from just a couple of seats over.
"Whoa, Myitt, don't lose it here," she advises, reaching a hand out to touch Jeffrey's hand lightly.
Myitt swallows and says, "I'm not losing it," though tears are springing to Jeffrey's eyes.
<<Do you really wanna know?>> Myitt asks Jeffrey bitterly. <<It's not a pretty picture. At least, not to me.>>
She opens her mind to him, to ten years earlier - had it really been that long?
A flash of bright pink hair. A woman telling her empty, soothing things. The black-on-black of an Imperial jumpsuit uniform.
Pain. Endless agony, the agony of starvation and helplessness wrapped up into one madness. Burns and lacerations and missing fingernails. Her poor host, dragged into this.
Because of her. Stronger than the pain by far was the crushing guilt. If she was going to die, let her die now, before the guilt killed her.
And knowing that somewhere nearby, her brother was dying the torture death of a traitor.
Just like she was.
For weeks.
Outwardly, she just holds Jeffrey's head in her hands, sobs wracking his frame.
The pain of the memory, and the pain of her loss. Daniel was dead, too, now. Daniel...Raikker... how many others would die, suffering, before the end?