Afterglow | The Clone Wars

Duchess of Mandalore

The echo of her footsteps vibrated off the glass walls of the surrounding structure. Faint, her head-pounding all at the same time. Outside, the night was an eerie, and it threatened to consume all without remorse.

Stretched out before her in the seemingly endless void was a throne that stood tall and proud. A shadowy figure wearing a cloak was looming there at the arm rest. The persons back was turned away from the Jedi.

She couldn't see the persons face, but her heart already knew who it was. Over her shoulder, the sound of more footsteps flooded the quiet hall. The sound of an inescapable fate. She quickened her pace, outreaching her hand to the figure in front of the throne.

They spun on their heel, reaching up to grab the Jedi's wrist before she could touch them. Their once blue eyes were now yellow. She attempted to pull away, but their grip was too strong. Sounds echoed throughout the throne room. An igniting saber, clicking weapons, screams, commands, and a heart-shattering goodbye.

"I've loved you, always."

The Jedi could feel an overwhelming sense of agony, as if her body was being burned from the inside-out. And heart break— a hideous heartbreak. She used the force to push the figure away from her and she ran back for the exit, unable to remain there anymore.

"I have nothing anymore."

The exit glitched, appearing to be moving farther and farther away from her with each step that she took. She sensed that something was chasing her, a dark, overpowering figure. There wasn't any way to escape it.

Her emerald eyes shot open, and she sat up swiftly in her bed. Sunlight poked in through the drawn blinds of her window. Outside, the endless city of Coruscant was bustling. The sun was just barely over the horizon. She sat on the edge of her bed, running her fingers through her hair to calm her mind. Dreams such as this were becoming more consistent.

Today was the day that Obi-Wan would return from his small mission to Mandalore. He was bringing the Duchess of that system with him. The Council had assigned Dakota with the task of being her Jedi escort during her stay on Coruscant. As the memory of receiving the task resurfaced, she groaned in annoyance.

She got up from her bed, taking her time in getting ready for the day. That day, she let her black curly hair fall down her back instead of twisting it into a braid. Her patience was already too thin for hair care. She slipped on her dark tunic, and attached the acquired, grey clone armor that she wore as shoulder and upper arm protectants.

There was distress present inside of the Jedi, but she forced it down to present herself properly. Maybe the armor would deflect any of the impending grief she'd receive that day.