Don’t patronize me,” Asajj said coldly.

Dooku looked around. “Or what?”

Her face went pale.

Dooku lifted that one finger, and this time he tapped it in the air, as if pushing a needle into a pincushion. Ventress crumpled to her knees. Her voice came out clotted with pain. “Please,” she said. “Don’t.”

“It doesn’t feel very good, does it? Like sharp stones in your throat and chest.” Dooku made another little patting motion, and Ventress slammed to the tile floor. “It’s the blood vessels I hate,” Dooku said. “The way they stretch inside, like balloons about to pop.”

“P-p-p-please…”

“But worse than anything is the memories,” he said, more softly still. “They crowd around, like flies on meat. Every despicable thing, every petty vice, every little act of spite.” A cruel, strange quiet stretched out as Ventress panted on the stone floor. Rain ticked against the window glass, and the Count’s soft voice went dark and far away. “All the things you should have stopped, but didn’t, and nothing will ever be right again. And the things you’ve done,” he whispered. “By the pitiless stars, the things you’ve done…”