She pulled back, and a glowing golden mist clung to her lips. The mist grew, mercifully obscuring her face as she extracted— A deep, agonized groan was ripped from Dyon, hauled from his innermost soul, floating on that golden mist. Every limb, every centimeter, every cell of him was coming under attack. It was not like the searing, focused pain in his temple; this pain was aching and deep. The pain at his temple changed from white-hot to icy cold, and it began to enter him. As Abeloth pulled forth something— Life energy, she’s taking my life essence … —from his body, she gave in return a dreadful cold. A slithering, dark cold that wrapped around his throat, closing it, then his heart, then his entrails, then seeped implacably into the rest of him. He could feel himself withering up, the desiccation turning him into a living corpse, dried and husklike, as if he had been buried in the sand for centuries. Abeloth chuckled, a throaty, warm sound. “You have served me well, better than any have in a long time. Soon, we will become one, Dyon Stad. Soon, you will never leave me. And you will have enabled me to continue.”
-Fate of the Jedi: Allies