The Hands of Fate

Breaches to the Mind

"Anakin?"

The Sith Lord was dreaming again. Dreams did not come often to Darth Vader, often escaping his grasp or twisting into grotesque nightmares that he couldn't escape. They were starting to become more regular the more he thought of his son, the longer he dwelt on his past. Scars of distant memories were being broken and the most painful scabs ripped at once.

She was there, tilting her head back, exposing her wide and childish grin, staring deep into his eyes. She was as beautiful as ever, her hair curled and dancing against the wind. It wasn't often that she personally came to visit – though she used to at the beginning. Her presence used to remind him of the scars he bore, the physical and emotional mutilation that cut him into this person. Those eyes peered at him and he could feel his soul unraveling, his burnt lips pleading for one last kiss, an embrace between armor and flesh.

That voice came from the tallgrass of Naboo, nestled by the bright and colorful clothes that caught his eye. He could remember her beauty but the mental image had begun to deteriorate after decades of silence. As time passed, she had begun to fade with the wounds and scars till the point she became a wondering ghost that lingered. Guiding but never revealing, she tended to hide in the deepest crevices of his mind. Nudging and whispering but quiet. Distant.

It had been years since Vader last heard her speak.

Here she was: the love of his life. She was smiling at him – she forgave him, though he did not deserve it. There were bad feelings that went with the good; monstrous, ravenous pains that haunted him every waking moment. First and foremost, guilt. She gave him the world and he took it from her. Not purposefully – at least, he didn't think he did. Vader was so angered, so lost in the darkness, he took out his frustrations on her once corruption took over. He remembered the pain in her eyes as she choked, hands clasped around her throat and struggling against him, rocking against it and rebelling. He saw her give up. She died because of his actions.

There was more that lingered than the former Queen and Senator of the Naboo. Behind her stood a shadow so great, one that he could never hide from. It preyed on him from within and fed on his insecurities. He was weak. No matter how much power he amassed, no matter how great he became with the Force, it was never enough. Any that grew close to him were lost to the flames of despair.

Mother.

"Anakin."

The visage of his wife slowly morphed upwards, slightly taller in build, face twisting and contorting into a familiar image. The figure tried to speak as she positioned into shape, extending out her hand toward him. Her eyes were sad. They were the only memory he had of his mother after he was freed; saddened eyes that desperately wanted more. Vader understood that feeling. To be on the brink of death and wanting all the time and power the universe could give, only to constantly be let down. He wanted the strength to save her just as she wanted the strength to hold him once more.

His mother was strong – stronger than he. Though his shackles to the slavers were freed, they were simply handed over for a new type of prison. It was a prison that never truly allowed him to be himself, never do the kinds of things he wanted to do with his unmatched powers. He knew he would die a slave.

She, at the very least, died free and proud.

Vader was unsure which woman was his greatest failure; the woman that shared the universe with him or the one that brought him into it? They both hung heavy on his shoulders, weighing him down to the depths of hell, burdening his remaining soul and setting it aflame with every reminder. Not only was Vader a slave to his master – some part of him, a part that he despised, was a slave to the child left.