The Spire was a death sentence for most. Fingers worked to the bone for the warforge of the Sith Empire. Each prisoner kept in a barren cell, to wait for a next meal that would likely never come. Slave food-- pure calories just to keep them alive.
Her footsteps clacked down barren corridors, as the groans of abused prisoners drifted helplessly across her ears. She followed the matte black armor of the prison guard, nearly invisible through the darkness that the hallway was slaked in. She drank it like water.
"This is the one."
Emic turned on a heel and the door slid open before her. A pathetic, starved mass lay on the opposite side. The King of Kings stepped forward, inspecting the thing in the cell. Nasty claws extended from fingertips, and hair became matted and dirty even in the pristine black room in which she was held.
Emic turned off the shackles, allowing her arms to drop free from their hanging, and dropped a bag of poorly-cooked meat onto the ground. She taunted the heap before her, though her voice, atypically calm, did nothing to indicate it. "The Jedi still coming to free you?"
