chains | anidala

anakin skywalker

hours before...

Anakin's hands trembled as he washed his face. After drying his skin, he stared at himself in the mirror. He looked horrid. The dark circles from countless sleepless nights wore deep on his face. You could spot them from across a room.

He couldn't sleep anymore. All he did was spend each night staring at the ceiling, tossing and turning in his bed. When sleep did come, he was haunted by nightmares of Padmé. She was always in pain, screaming at him for help. He'd reach out for her, but he could never help her. He was chained to a post, forced to watch her get tortured by a man in a black mask. Darth Vader. Before he woke, he'd see her blood splattered across the white floor.

Being awake wasn't much better, he saw her everywhere. When he looked at his bed, he thought of how lonely it was without her. When he saw fire, he thought of his confession to her years before in Naboo. When he admired the stars, he thought of how Padmé and himself used to stand under them on their balcony in Coruscant.

He shook his head, putting on his clothes. The suit always felt heavy on his skin. The helmet confined him, but it made him feel powerful. People feared Darth Vader, they did exactly what he told them to do. If he wanted a planet destroyed, a group of people captured, or a thousand new droids, it would be given to him with just the snap of fingers.

The power made him thirst for more. He had the clones and control of almost the entire galaxy, but something was missing. No matter how many planets he claimed or people he executed, there was always a void inside of him. He wanted it full, it was why he killed Palpatine days after coming back to apprentice him, despite their battle. The title of Sith still could not fill the emptiness he felt. He needed more -- but what?

As he crossed the hallway towards the command room, his torso began to aggravate him. The bullet wound from Padmé bothered him a month later, even after he'd healed. Along with the irritation,  the scar that formed on his skin served as reminders of what had happened. The hatred that had formed between Anakin and Padmé.

Again, his mind drifted to her. The void that taunted his every move centered around the girl. The angel of his past blazed in burning red, reminding him of his past. The hunger inside of his body attempted to reach out for her, but he couldn't.

When he thought of her, he thought of the sun.
A bright, warm blistering ball of light.
As it shone, it lead the poor, weak, and broken.
It directed the most lost soul to safety.
It rose faithfully every dawn, committed to guiding the people.

When he thought of her, he thought of a wildflower.
A delicate, blossoming plant decorated in thousands of colours.
Flowers that swayed and danced in the meadows to the summer breeze.
They sparked awe in the observer as he marvelled at their beauty.

When he thought of her, he thought of an oak tree.
He thought of how it survived the harshest of seasons.
In the fall, although its leaves were stripped from it's branches.
Or in the winter, it stood tall, surrounded cold and blistering winds.
For in the spring, the oak still stood unmoved. It blossomed new leaves.
It stood tall, no matter the circumstance.

Padmé was the light of his life. She guided him from the dark. She gave him her hand, even when he was lost in the depths of his tormented mind.

Padmé was beautiful. She stole the breath from his lungs with every movement, word, or embrace.

Padmé was strong. She'd survived every hardship of her life. She picked herself up and stood through every storm Anakin had thrown her way.