"Well, it's up to you, but you should come inside soon in any case, it's going to start getting hot when the sun comes up."

"Mm."

...She's still not moving.

"...ma'am?"

"...What do you do, Daisy, when you have failed all you've sworn to, and the only reason you remain alive to see it is the whim of an uncaring god?"

"Ah. Well, I suggest you come in and take a shower, and you can help me with the morning chores if you aren't tired yet."

"I suppose, if you insist."

"...For the record, please insist."

"All right." And she takes her hand to lead her in.

Directly behind the workshop is Pradnakt's bedroom, just barely wide enough for her king-sized bed and the shelves on either side of it, with a strip of floor space at the foot of the bed to allow passage between the four doors out of the room - the one to the left of the bed leads back to the workroom, and then there are two doors across from the bed and one to its right. The walls and ceiling in the bedroom are heavily covered in artwork, mostly a mixture of Pradnakt's metal sculptures and Daisy's calligraphy, though the piece over the bed is a large photograph of a canyon made of much redder stone than the local stuff and there are a number of pieces in other styles as well. The shelves are full of bric-a-brac, a mixture of decorative objects and decorated boxes holding various practical things, plus a few gadgets too big to go in boxes. Pradnakt herself is lying on the bed reading from a black tablet-like device, and doesn't look up or acknowledge them when they come in.

The left-hand door across from the bed leads to the bathroom, a large L-shaped room tiled floor to ceiling in a rich blue-green-brown marble; there's a long vanity along the wall with a sink and several bottles of soap, large bottles of regular and heavy-duty varieties surrounded by a collection of little bottles labeled as being various floral scents. The shower apparatus, with both a fixed head and a handheld sprayer, is around the corner, without a curtain to separate it from the rest of the room. A hanger on the back of the door holds a fluffy towel and a bathrobe, but Daisy tells Diana to wait a moment while she gets her a towel of her own and change of clothes.

She can certainly wait, yes.  Somewhat awkwardly, but she'll wait.

It doesn't take long, at least; the spare towel is just as luxurious and Daisy has found thin black sweatpants and a dark grey shirt with yellow embroidery around the neck for her as well.

"I'll be right outside if you need anything," she says, and leaves her be.

Then...she'll wash up, and eventually make her way out.

Daisy is sitting half-crosslegged on the end of the bed, signing to Pradnakt, who looks up from the conversation and looks her over, somewhere between consideringly and appraisingly.

She looks, above all else, tired.  Hollowed out, like what animates her is only a reluctance and refusal to die rather than zeal for life; like she's been fighting a war and in the end she lost, no matter how many tricks she pulled out, no matter how much she gave, no matter how much she saved; she looks like she had her heart torn out and spat on, and there's a yawning chasm left where it used to be.

She's stubborn, but she looks like a pyre that's burnt down to embers; the way she keeps looking at the yellow embroidery like it's managed to somehow revulse her (and always with a spike of recognition-warning!-annoyance-frustration-exhaustion, like a heartbeat of ingrained reactions, repeatedly considered and dismissed) but she just can't make herself do anything about it certainly contributes.

Her staff looks like it's supporting her half-zombie shamble of a walk, to the casual observer, but as Pradnakt looks Diana over, it's more like Diana is trying to pour herself into the indigo-hued staff she carries, rather than draw support from it.  To give what's left, because she doesn't really know what else to do, because she can't support herself.

The Sith doesn't spend long looking her over, but then locks eyes with her, signing to Daisy as she does so; the droid nods and leaves for the back room. There's something intense about her stare, compelling, not in a frightening way or a way that cuts through Diana's exhaustion at all, but it's hard to look away from and leaves her feeling very seen.

::Stand up, warrior; you are not yet finished.
Beaten you may be, but broken?
Angels have fallen from greater heights
and survived, so why shouldn’t you?
Never mind what you are made of;
you are more than this flesh that binds you.
There is nothing you have to fear
that should not fear you a thousand times more.
Your heart is a galaxy, and your soul is lined in stars.::

[source]

::So I think I know what your problem is.::

...Yeah, Diana hasn't even heard Pradnakt articulate her opinion of what the problem is, but with the way she's just...been pierced through in a single poem, she's pretty sure Pradnakt's right.

Please tell her there's a chair and a box of tissues somewhere in here.  She needs one.

::...yeah, I bet you do too.::

...She's so glad she doesn't need to be looking at her staff right now.  It's a pillar of her life and it's also a wound.

There's plenty of room at the foot of the bed, and Pradnakt indicates that she should sit there, sending a box of tissues floating over as she does.

::You got that staff young, didn't you. Or - not necessarily when you were small, but before you had much else going on. You've never been anything else.::

"Yeah."

She nods.

::And it consumed me, as I consumed it, as I turned it from someone else's mindrape device - :: (- Flashes of the Indigo Tribe, Compassion-brainwashed one and all, follow in that comment's wake -) :: - into a tool of my own making; into something I used for the noblest purposes.  And now...the very reason I took it up has been ripped away from me.::

::And something like that always hurts, but that's not your problem, really. I don't get the impression that you have trouble with hurt. The problem is that you never had anything else, and now you don't have anything at all. Or feel like you don't, anyway.::

::Ripped away, like I said.  Leaving a big, gaping hole, right where the motivation goes.::

::You can be more than one thing. You were confused about this with me, too - you thought I couldn't accurately be a Sith and still be kind, because Sith aren't kind, but I can, it just comes from the other things that I am.::

::You don't have other things that you are right now - or you think that you don't; I think there's more there than you realize - and that's going to be hard, but it's never too late to pick up something new.::

::More that...my impression of Sith is perhaps, colored - ha, a pun - by the ways I know the Emotional Spectrum distorts its wielders - and Red, Orange, and Yellow...Anger, Greed, and Fear...Those colors aren't just not kind; they're affirmatively cruel.  Sometimes this is shaped by the lights themselves, sometimes by their Corps' devisiers; I'm very certain Yellow Lanterns would be quite different if not for Thaal Sinestro, but...it's still...I've had to use/mimic all of them at one point or another, and despite the fact that Red is the most 'extreme' color, I can at least say it's clean, in the end.  It's worse on the bearer than the people it hurts.  That doesn't give Sith much to recommend them, by extension.::

::But that's a bit off-topic.  ...I'm not sure what the heck I can possibly do here.  I'm not Batman.::  Who'd already be revolutionizing something, she's got ironclad certainty in that.  ::I'm not equipped to do the bullshit you normally want Lanterns to do.::  Like 'be or fight a living planet'.  ::I'm just some human girl, lost in a galaxy far, far away from her home, that happens to have power-onna-stick.  There's not much that does.::

Daisy comes back while she's speaking, passing Pradnakt another shirt. This one is also embroidered, but just at the wrists, mostly in red with speckles of other colors, and Pradnakt takes a stitch-ripper from one of the boxes by the bed and begins removing the embroidery, somehow without needing to look at it.

::In galactic terms, right now, there's not much, sure. I'm not inclined to take you off-planet like this. But not everything has to be galactic scale, and I'd say this shouldn't be, and on the smaller scale - well, there's some limits to what can be done here and how fast we can get things, but within that the world's your kollina. I'd suggest you start by designing yourself a house, if you're staying we'll want to build you one.::

::I...you...why would you...all this...for me?::

::Sure, why not. It's not a hardship, and the Force obviously thinks you're meant to be here. We were gearing up to leave but we're not on a schedule. And if you're going to be around for the next year or whatever I'd rather not have you gumming up my workshop the whole time.::

::...well when you put it that way it makes sense, for all that I think I need to actively avoid believing that explanation if I'm to heal in good time and develop the...self-compassion I lack.::

::If I just didn't want you gumming up the workshop I'd put you in the garage.::