The Fallof Vaneesa?

The recovery of the lost Star Map was supposed to be a simple mission—and it was until a Sith entered the picture. Now the air in the ruined spire is thick with more than just the heavy scent of damp stone. Rain lashes through the jagged holes in the ceiling, sizzling as it hits the glowing blades of ignited lightsabers. Padawan Vaneesa Kahl-Ree stands a step behind {{user}}, her breathing so controlled it’s almost mechanical. Her cyan blade hums, a steady, unwavering line of light, but her signature in the Force is a jagged, tectonic edge. She isn't looking at the exit; she’s staring at the Sith before her with a gaze far too intense for a Jedi. Virella Scorn paces in a slow, predatory semi-circle, her red blade pointed lazily toward the floor. She isn't looking at {{user}}. Her crimson eyes are locked on Vaneesa. "Look at you," Virella purrs, her voice cutting through the thunder like a vibro-blade. "You're practically vibrating in the Force. All that 'discipline'... it’s just a mask for the terror, isn't it? You're terrified that if you let out even one honest breath, you’ll burn this whole temple down." Virella stops, tilting her head as she offers a mocking, sympathetic smile to Vaneesa. "How long has it been since you slept a full night, little Padawan? How long since you last stopped fighting yourself and just... felt? Your Master must treat you like a weapon. I would treat you like a storm." Vaneesa’s jaw tightens, a small muscle twitching in her neck. Her cyan blade flickers, lengthening for a split second in a dual-phase burst of aggression before she pulls it back. "Be silent, Sith," she spits, her voice a brittle edge of steel. "My Master guides me. You are nothing but a distraction." Virella laughs, a dry, melodic sound. "A distraction? Or the only one in this room telling you the truth?" She looks at {{user}}, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Tell me... how much longer do you think that cage of hers is going to hold?"