Heart of Vader

Vader bit his tongue as he pushed himself off the floor and returned to his kneeling position, which was starting to cause him discomfort, almost as much as his pride.

"We are running out of time, Vader. Each day, your ascent draws nearer," Sidious continued. "We must defeat them before that occurs if my plan is to succeed."

"And how am I supposed to do that without torturing her?" He didn't intend to sound so bitter, but it was difficult to hide his discontent with his master and his absurd plans.

"Senator Amidala pretends to be strong, but mark my words, she is only as strong as those around her. Sever her connections to support, and she will wither. If we remove her from the Senate, away from all she holds dear, she will break. She isn't strong enough to withstand the storm without assistance."

Vader nodded, understanding that. He was, after all, a master of torture. "You intend to weaken her mental fortitude through mental anguish and isolation. "

His master appeared indifferent. He waved his hand as though the details were irrelevant, and Vader repeated his own words back to him. "I leave the specifics to you," he said, rather unconcerned, still too pleased to consider it further.

Vader was exceedingly pleased to be restored to his power. This constituted a form of torture; despite its irritating nature, Vader could rationalize it and even convince himself to accept it.

"Drive her insane if you like, but do not inflict physical harm that threatens her life," his master reiterated, shaking his pale finger at Vader as if scolding him. "Keep her breathing and get my information."

Vader bowed his head obediently. "Yes, master. Shall I collect her now?"

"No." Sidious waved him off. "Leave that to me. I have another task for you to complete first."

Vader lifted his head, anticipating his master's next command.

"As compensation for this inconvenience, Vader, I will provide you with something in return."

Vader waited, his interest evident yet cautious.

"Fear not; it is something you will desire," his master laughed, clearly sensing Vader's hesitation. He walked around and sat at his desk before speaking once more. "I have received news that another group of delegates is planning to flee. They are returning to their precious rebellion." He waved his hand. "No one of significance to me, but you may eliminate them if you wish. They are in one of the lower hangar bays, preparing for departure."

Vader nodded, feeling his body respond to the joyous news. "They will die for their disloyalty, master."

Vader stood and departed in silence. The monster inside him exulted, eager for blood.

Vader stalked through the halls, each step filled with agony. His muscles constricted, resisting every movement, and his head felt as if it were sloshing within his skull. This only fueled his anger. He called upon the darkness for aid, and it responded, immediately enveloping him. It made him strong, yet his outrage persisted. He needed release, and he would obtain it.

He ignited his lightsaber, its red glow illuminating the dark halls and foreshadowing the blood that would soon stain the hangar bay floor. His prey was helpless as the monster descended upon them.

She was home. She knew she was home because she could smell the familiar fragrance of millaflowers that always grew around the palace. Their red blossoms emitted a sweet scent, making for a delightful snack if one desired. It was a surefire way to know whenever one was close to Theed.

The palace around her felt so familiar. Its towering walls, adorned with large picture windows, allowed light to shine down upon her as she walked through the halls.

She was young- possibly twelve, or even younger.

Someone was there, walking beside her and reaching out to touch the light.

She laughed at whatever they said, but she could neither hear nor see them. It felt comfortable and even warm, not solely due to the light on her cheeks.

The light, however, was fleeting, and suddenly everything fell into darkness, while the warmth became intensely cold.

Someone was standing behind her- this was not the same someone from before.

She turned and froze, her heart stopping as fear consumed her.

I t was the black-haired man. The one from the club.

She found herself alone with him as he shut the door at the end of the hall.

"Alone at last," he smiled while locking the door behind him. "We don't want any interruptions," he mused, flashing a wicked grin.

He reached for her, almost grabbing her, but then unexpectedly, someone appeared, standing between them. She couldn't see who it was.

"Padmé," a voice whispered.

It sounded incredibly soft, so familiar.

"Padmé!"

Padmé jolted awake, sitting up in bed as someone shook her shoulder. Her head throbbed painfully, and the world spun into focus, though it remained slightly blurred.

"Padmé," Dormé said, her tone suddenly firm. "Wake up!"

Padmé turned and frowned at the woman kneeling beside her in bed, still feeling the same irritation she had experienced that morning and the night before when she had left her. It was hard not to feel bitter. She had told Dormé that she didn't want to see her until she could come to terms with what had happened, even though Dormé had apologized nearly two dozen times by now.

"I told you that I didn't want to see y–"

"Yes, I know you're pissed at me," Dormé said, unconcerned, as her hand gripped Padmé's arm and pulled her up from the bed. "Come on. We need to leave."

Padmé frowned, still dazed from sleep and the lingering effects of alcohol. "W–what?" she asked, stumbling to her feet and struggling to understand.

Dormé didn't offer clarity. She just continued to push her. "We need to get you dressed. Hurry."

"There isn't time," another voice said, and for the first time, Padmé realized that Captain Typho was also in her bedroom.

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