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Monsters are never allowed to covet beautiful things. They blend in with the shadows, where they belong unflinching of the horrors committed by their kind. He is an accomplice. An ally. A slave once more.
"Vader."
He does not know why the Emperor summons him to perform menial tasks. He is never one for politics. He is a soldier – a dog. Basking in death and blood, his mask is an ominous harbinger of destruction. His Master parades him like an animal, a devout follower of his cause to interrogate those who deign to oppose him, a threat to the power-hungry politicians.
"My Master."
The Emperor chews loudly, nimble fingers utilizing the sharp knife which cuts through meat, "Have you been to Talanis these days?"
Vader ceases movement, leather crumpling underneath the pressure carefully hidden underneath the table. A crooked grin pulls at the corner of his Master's mouth.
"It's today, isn't it?" Palpatine hums, watching with rapt attention. "It's a pity your wife cannot join us. She would have been a fascinating ruler, don't you agree?" Vader settles for silence, urging Palpatine to carry on with his monologue. "To honor the woman she once was, I'd like you to bring the flowers I've purchased this morning to her grave."
He nods. Their daily dinner ends with two troopers laying on a heap underneath his boot, faces twisted and barely recognizable as Vader storms out followed by Palpatine's pleased chuckle.
Vader leaves Coruscant as scheduled, his chambers laden with withered– dead flowers of each kind, arranged meticulously and elegantly. He recognizes the intricate design from one of Coruscant's best florists working under Palpatine's thumb. All skilled craftsmen laid undone by the Emperor's orders. It must've been humiliating to have such talent and pride in one's craft only to be used at will by Palpatine to create the most horrid combination of this sorry excuse of a bouquet.
He arrives at your home planet trudging quickly, quietly amidst the bustling streets. He is welcomed by a path of white flowers and candles on his way to the cemetery, the Talanis people too smart for their own good not to question the Emperor's dog each year he visits your grave.
As per custom, the former queens of Talanis must be buried amongst her own, a large golden structure befitting the opulence and regality of such a position. His troops stand down outside, blasters pressed against their hips to block the door from any outsiders.
It is quiet as he approaches your smiling image, lowering the withered bouquet by your name surrounded by many others who had come today to honor and remember your life. There is no one here to tell him what to do. At your grave, Vader is free to do as he pleases. Even at death, you continue to be of comfort to his otherwise ailing presence. He spends his time with you in silence, meditating and reminiscing the days of his youth wherein your smile had been the brightest out of any sun he had ever laid eyes on.
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