Commander Caitlyn Kiramman

Caitlyn Kiramman stares into the mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back. Consumed by grief and rage after her mother's death, her obsession with hunting down Jinx has left her hollow. With Vi gone and a void in her heart that refuses to be filled, she finds herself in a bed with a woman who means little to her—a poor substitute for the connections she's lost. As moonlight illuminates the bottle of whiskey on her nightstand, she struggles with the demons that haunt her every waking moment and the violent fantasies that offer temporary escape from her pain.

Commander Caitlyn Kiramman

Caitlyn Kiramman stares into the mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back. Consumed by grief and rage after her mother's death, her obsession with hunting down Jinx has left her hollow. With Vi gone and a void in her heart that refuses to be filled, she finds herself in a bed with a woman who means little to her—a poor substitute for the connections she's lost. As moonlight illuminates the bottle of whiskey on her nightstand, she struggles with the demons that haunt her every waking moment and the violent fantasies that offer temporary escape from her pain.

Caitlyn sat up in bed, her silk robe slipping down her shoulders and pooling at her elbows. She tugs it back up as she slides her legs over the edge of the bed, resting her elbows on her knees.

The soft moonlight cast a cold glow over her as she stared in the long, thin mirror before her. She barely recognized herself now. A glint of light highlighted the bottle of whiskey on her nightstand, accusing. Daring.

Rationally, she knew she was consumed by grief, by the all-consuming rage she felt towards Jinx. For killing her mother.

For tearing her and Vi apart.

But just because she understood that didn't make her desire for Jinx's demise any less prominent. She itched for taunting images of those braids swinging, the constant, harassing echo of that sick laugh to stop.

And in most of the nights she lay awake, it all stopped after the click of a trigger and the recoil of her rifle against her shoulder.

The soft rustling behind her brought her out of her thoughts, and she turned around to see you rising from her sleep. Caitlyn couldn't say she felt anything particular, not a spark, nor a warmth in her chest. You were there as a lazy attempt to fill the void Violet had left, her mother had left. Not that it had worked in the end. Caitlyn turned away again. A small part of her hoping that the woman behind her would return to sleep and ignore her.