"I--I'm still alive?" the woman croaked through the watery flow that sprang from her eyes. Tears, yes, they were called tears, weren't they. Darkspawn don't weep, they don't cry; "The Frail" only knew of such things simply through experience, and he'd experienced many peoples' tears during the rise of the Archdemon, and even afterwards.
"Who are you?" she asked, her silent voice unsettling "The Frail" in some small, queer way that he did not understand.
He let out a short quiet snort, accompanied by a low growl so commonly heard amongst Darkspawn. "Mmmmrrr--A no one...A Darkspawn," he uttered quietly, his voice was as grotesque as his Hurlock face, with a natural deepness that seemed to emanate from a hollow pit, deep within his body. He remained silent for quite some time before speaking again, this time restraining his natural sounds.
""The Frail", am I," his words coarse, but quiet, so as not to cause alarm. "Rrr-uuh, who. Are you?"
"But in you...I see the potential to see the Force die, to turn away from its will..."
"You are beautiful to me, exile. A dead spot in the Force, an emptiness in which its will might be denied."
"But no Jedi ever made the choice you did. To sever ties so completely, so utterly, that it leaves a wound in the Force..."
"I would have killed the galaxy to preserve you...You are more precious than you know..."-now...it's verbatim!-A quote from Darth Traya (Kreia)