She had killed Anakin.
“Have you come for revenge?” she whispered.
Obi-Wan looked at the glassy walls, at the mosaic embedded in the floor, at the gossamer fine drapes on the delicate furniture.
At everything and anything but her.
But I gave her the knife.
“Have you come to kill me?”
The puddle of light danced with the curtain...
“I have come for you to kill me,” he whispered.
He looked at her then.
Her eyes were dry but sane. The bitter red line that was her mouth was sharp. He could feel the slashes.
If he looked hard, he could see where she bled.
I killed him first. When I convinced you to send him away. We both did.
He gave her the knife.
It passed through his ribs as easily as a needle through sand.
“You are lucky, Obi-Wan,” she whispered, watching him fall.
“Death is too good for me.”