End this

As she falters against the **** of your attack, you draw your left hand away from your saber's hilt with a deliberateness she seems to recognize as her eyes widen...

And her throat closes.

Watching Serra clutch at the nothingness constricting her throat, turning quickly from defiance to helplessness, is surprisingly invigorating. You watch with rising interest as her pupils dilate in panic and as blood vessels in her face swell with the pressure. As if on cue, the sounds of blaster fire and the shrieks of Padawans elsewhere in the temple resume. Your pleasure in this moment is a perversion most unexpected.

A sad hatred washes over Serra's face, becoming a certain desperation before her eyes begin to roll back and her body goes limp. All the strength of the once-headstrong Serra Keto, dangling like a fragile doll in your invisible grasp. Your former rival...

As a teenager you had constantly swung back and forth from anger and attraction toward her, and many a nights in your room had been spent thinking of her.

Her consciousness begins to recede, and the sensation of her racing heart beating strenuously against your grip is most... enticing.