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03-08-2025, 12:27 PM
(This post was last modified: 03-08-2025, 12:29 PM by Xulia Horuset.)
>> STATUS: INTEGRITY 100%
>> SOURCE: PERSONAL DEVICE // Xulia HORUSET
>> OPENING FILE...ENTRY I: The Sin of Modulation
The holorecorder activates with a soft chime. There is no movement. Xulia sits alone, straight-backed, hands folded, wrapped in the stillness of someone who no longer requires answers. Only decisions.
The air is still. The kind of silence that lingers after someone stops believing in what once held them steady.
"Two of them."
Her voice is low. Even. No anger. Just distaste, spoken like a verdict.
"Two aliens now sit among the Pentarchy of House Horuset."
A pause.
"One a Twi’lek. The other an Echani."
She does not say their names. They are not worthy of them.
"And no one stopped it."
Her eyes flick toward the camera now, distant, but not unfocused.
"There was a time when I would have believed that such a thing was impossible. Not because I thought the aliens wouldn’t try. Of course they would. Parasites always reach for the throat of the host."
"But because I believed our kind would not allow it."
"I believed in the instinct of preservation."
A breath. A shift of her shoulders. Perfect composure.
"Now I see the truth."
"They were not strong enough to resist."
"Or worse… they no longer cared to."
She stands slowly. Each motion precise. Controlled.
"I do not hate the Echani because he struck my father down. I hate him because he exists. Because he breathes the same air my ancestors bled for."
"I do not hate the Twi’lek because she speaks in the chambers of our power. I hate her because her blood was never meant to mingle with ours."
Her head tilts just slightly. The movement reads more as curiosity than scorn, though neither truly reach her face.
“There was a time when we knew what aliens were for.”
“They polished floors. They carried messages. They died in our wars.”
“They did not sit among us.”
A longer pause now. A breath, controlled.
“But it is not the aliens I find contemptible.”
“No.”
“It is the Sith who allow them.”
Her voice sharpens, just slightly. Less like a blade. More like glass under strain.
“Purebloods who smile at offworlders. Who kneel before false strength and pretend it is wisdom. Who pretend our House still holds to its traditions while elevating those it once rightly enslaved.”
“This is not failure.”
“This is surrender.”
She rises. Smooth. Like someone built on angles and ritual, not flesh and blood. She does not look directly into the recorder yet, only walks past it, gaze forward, steps quiet.
“The Echani male who slew my father was not a threat. He was a symptom.”
“I do not hate him because he was strong enough to strike down Lord Teius. I hate him because he was permitted to.”
“Because he stood in that chamber like an equal. Because the others let him.”
Now she turns. The camera catches her profile, expression blank, carved in polished stillness.
“My father did not die in battle. He was sacrificed. Thrown into a chamber where no one would defend him. Where those bound by blood and doctrine stood silent while the rot seated itself at the table.”
“He did not fight for his legacy.”
“He fought for ours.”
She stops. Fully facing the lens now. Still not close. But direct. As if passing sentence, not delivering a speech.
“This House was never meant to be a refuge for the alien. It was built to command them.”
“They are not Sith. They are property, painted in borrowed tradition and pretending at fire.”
“That the Pentarchy now holds two of them… is not a shock.”
“It is proof.”
A breath. Her tone lowers. She approaches the holorecorder now. Slowly. The screen narrows on her face, still blank, but the emptiness is precise. Intentional.
"It is weakness."
"And if left unchallenged, it will consume us."
"We do not fall to war. We fall to comfort."
She stops in front of the recorder. Close now. Still not angry. She doesn’t need to be.
"So let them speak their false virtues. Let them surround themselves with offworlders and mutants. Let them praise diversity while the bloodlines thin and the memory of power fades."
"I will not be among them."
"And when the time comes, I will remind them what it means to be Sith."
The screen cuts to black.
[VISUAL END – static flood]
[AUDIO TERMINATED – no further signal detected]
>> END FRAGMENT.
>> FILE STATUS: LOCKED
>> SOURCE: PERSONAL DEVICE // Xulia HORUSET
>> OPENING FILE...ENTRY I: The Sin of Modulation
The holorecorder activates with a soft chime. There is no movement. Xulia sits alone, straight-backed, hands folded, wrapped in the stillness of someone who no longer requires answers. Only decisions.
The air is still. The kind of silence that lingers after someone stops believing in what once held them steady.
"Two of them."
Her voice is low. Even. No anger. Just distaste, spoken like a verdict.
"Two aliens now sit among the Pentarchy of House Horuset."
A pause.
"One a Twi’lek. The other an Echani."
She does not say their names. They are not worthy of them.
"And no one stopped it."
Her eyes flick toward the camera now, distant, but not unfocused.
"There was a time when I would have believed that such a thing was impossible. Not because I thought the aliens wouldn’t try. Of course they would. Parasites always reach for the throat of the host."
"But because I believed our kind would not allow it."
"I believed in the instinct of preservation."
A breath. A shift of her shoulders. Perfect composure.
"Now I see the truth."
"They were not strong enough to resist."
"Or worse… they no longer cared to."
She stands slowly. Each motion precise. Controlled.
"I do not hate the Echani because he struck my father down. I hate him because he exists. Because he breathes the same air my ancestors bled for."
"I do not hate the Twi’lek because she speaks in the chambers of our power. I hate her because her blood was never meant to mingle with ours."
Her head tilts just slightly. The movement reads more as curiosity than scorn, though neither truly reach her face.
“There was a time when we knew what aliens were for.”
“They polished floors. They carried messages. They died in our wars.”
“They did not sit among us.”
A longer pause now. A breath, controlled.
“But it is not the aliens I find contemptible.”
“No.”
“It is the Sith who allow them.”
Her voice sharpens, just slightly. Less like a blade. More like glass under strain.
“Purebloods who smile at offworlders. Who kneel before false strength and pretend it is wisdom. Who pretend our House still holds to its traditions while elevating those it once rightly enslaved.”
“This is not failure.”
“This is surrender.”
She rises. Smooth. Like someone built on angles and ritual, not flesh and blood. She does not look directly into the recorder yet, only walks past it, gaze forward, steps quiet.
“The Echani male who slew my father was not a threat. He was a symptom.”
“I do not hate him because he was strong enough to strike down Lord Teius. I hate him because he was permitted to.”
“Because he stood in that chamber like an equal. Because the others let him.”
Now she turns. The camera catches her profile, expression blank, carved in polished stillness.
“My father did not die in battle. He was sacrificed. Thrown into a chamber where no one would defend him. Where those bound by blood and doctrine stood silent while the rot seated itself at the table.”
“He did not fight for his legacy.”
“He fought for ours.”
She stops. Fully facing the lens now. Still not close. But direct. As if passing sentence, not delivering a speech.
“This House was never meant to be a refuge for the alien. It was built to command them.”
“They are not Sith. They are property, painted in borrowed tradition and pretending at fire.”
“That the Pentarchy now holds two of them… is not a shock.”
“It is proof.”
A breath. Her tone lowers. She approaches the holorecorder now. Slowly. The screen narrows on her face, still blank, but the emptiness is precise. Intentional.
"It is weakness."
"And if left unchallenged, it will consume us."
"We do not fall to war. We fall to comfort."
She stops in front of the recorder. Close now. Still not angry. She doesn’t need to be.
"So let them speak their false virtues. Let them surround themselves with offworlders and mutants. Let them praise diversity while the bloodlines thin and the memory of power fades."
"I will not be among them."
"And when the time comes, I will remind them what it means to be Sith."
The screen cuts to black.
[VISUAL END – static flood]
[AUDIO TERMINATED – no further signal detected]
>> END FRAGMENT.
>> FILE STATUS: LOCKED
