For days she had been locked in that pile, her petite form buried beneath the body of her dead master. Blasted by bolts until he couldn't stand anymore. Dying putting his life before hers. As always he had. His insectoid body had been too heavy to shove off of her, baring down his whole weight on her. Pinning her in place, while simultaneously keeping her safe from the prying eyes of the miserably corrupted clones-- Or whatever it had been that happened.
Already had Syndra been scraped by the doubt and fear the Dark Side had to offer. Succumbing to fear, doubt, and in all other manners of the corruption in uneven but surefire ways. Now? Without the direction of her master, it had been like being tossed into a black sea. Weighed down by the insurmountable bricks of her own failings. Dragged into suffocating abyssal doubt.
Her robes were practically tatters, still marred with both of their blood, still hanging heavy with the scorch marks of their battalions onslaught. It had happened so suddenly that she hadn't even had the time to react. Now? All that she had wanted had been to bury her master. To give him rest.
And again they had come to finish what they had started. Rational thought had not touched her mind since feeling the burn of a blaster bolt in her sternum. Her eyes, as they were now were sunken from no sleep. Tinged already by the darkness, her pale blue eyes are wide. Pupils blown outward in darkened fear. Standing over his master, she tries to keep them from his body, and as they come down by the swing of another's blade, she still holds firm in her stance.
Her grip remains white knuckle around the hilt of her lightsaber. The blue blade casting its glow against her wild features. Teeth are ground tight, face a bestial snarl. Face smattered with cuts and heavy bruises, her heavy breath heaving her chest. She is a child who has seen the worst of the war in but a few days, after committing herself only to providing aid to those who'd needed it.
The other woman speaks, and she doesn't flinch, staring through her, feeling the tendrils of the darkness worm their way against her psyche, but knowing nothing more than the brutal emotion of the reaction.
She looks ready to strike, even against the woman who had saved her. Everyone was an enemy, there were no friends, not after the betrayal.
"Killed-- Master--" Gaze flicks to her feet and the body between them, if only for a brief second. "Tried to kill..." She feels all the pain in her body in that moment. The aching misery of every wound that adrenaline had carried her through the infliction of.