rebels → anakin skywalker

XXIX

"i am the designer of my own catastrophe"

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MUSTAFAR reeked of despair when Octavia entered its atmosphere.

Her skin was pale, her thoughts plagued with the ongoing looped imagery of Anakin's betrayal. Though C-3PO had accompanied her on this trip as a co-pilot, the droid could not get a single word out of her.

She was broken. Every possible nightmare that could've occurred in her unconscious state of mind was coming true. Nightmares so awful that the thought of them would make Octavia's blood run cold.

It didn't take long for Octavia to spot Anakin's starfighter through the fire and smoke on the landing platform. With her heart in her throat, the young Jedi docked the ship beside his.

However, she mentally thanked the golden droid beside her for taking her place and safely landing the ship as her eyes moved to the cloaked figure that was sprinting towards the platform.

She could sense the darkness around him. It's powerful aura surrounding his being like a phantom. Tears pricked at her eyes as she stood, her face emotionless as her eyes told a thousand heartbreaking truths. Opening the hatch, she moved towards the exit.

"Threepio, stay with the ship." She murmured, not listening to the Droid's response as the hatch widened.

A shaky breath was caught in her throat as her eyes locked with Anakin's figure, and she suddenly felt the urge to vomit. Swallowing down the anxiety that had scrunched itself up in her chest, her eyes darkened as she began to exit the ship.

"Octavia." She heard her corrupted husband speak, still jogging towards her. Her vision betrayed her as she moved her eyes to his face, and she wanted nothing more but to break down there and then.

He looked no different in that moment. His skin was still glowing in its ambience as it always did, his tousled hair messy upon his head. His eyes, however, were the only anomaly. The iridescent blue had darkened, and the spark of joy that she once saw and fell in love with was gone.

"I saw your ship dock." He spoke, approaching her and not hesitating to wrap his arms around her frame. She did the same, breathing in the smoky scent of his robe and swallowing the lump in her throat.

He pulled away from her, his eyes scanning her angelic features as his thumb gently caressed her cheek. Even in the evil light of Mustafar, she still shone.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, when she did not speak or meet his eyes.

"I could ask you the same question." She replied, and he faltered at the hostility in her tone. Her voice had deepened, and he could feel the despair oozing from her words. Anakin moved away, his hand leaving her face. Her cheek felt colder than the temperatures of Hoth's climate.