Author's Notes: Hello! I'm not sure if anyone remembers, but I originally 
posted the prologue to this story under the title 'Hourglass'. If you want
to read the prologue, you can go here:
http://demando.net/stolenmoon/hourglass_pro.txt

On a side note, crosswinds took down the email address I normally use to
post to this list. septembers0demon@crosswinds.net is no longer valid; so,
if you need to get a hold of me, please use mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com .

Enough of my blabber! I do hope you enjoy the story! Feedback is very much
desired...

~Meredith



Date Begun: August 4th, 2001
Date Finished: November 22nd, 2001

-------------------------------------------
Faces in the Passageway 1/?
by Meredith Bronwen Mallory
mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com
http://www.demando.net/
-------------------------------------------

 You need to keep running. Don't look back, don't think about where you've
been or what you're running from, it doesn't matter. Just keep moving. Your
destination is a vague thing- as long as the enemy isn't there, as long as
He isn't there, it doesn't matter where you go.
 
 But you're tried. You want to stop, because you're tried, because you're
so out of breath it's all you can hear, and your legs feel as though
they're made of glass. You're so cold, you've never been so cold in your
life, but its a liquid thing and you feel it running along your body. It's
snowing, white all around you, a white more pure than even the armor of
your enemies (but don't think about that, don't think about that). Blindly
you reach out, and your hands touch on the wall of a building. You lean
against it to steady yourself, but it doesn't yield. There's nothing to
sink into, no place to go. Why have you stopped running?! The bricks are
ice to the touch, you can feel them through the heavy cloak and gown. You
close your eyes, lean more of your weight against it anyway. You breath
steadies itself, as much as you allow it. This is nice, you think. All you
want to do is rest here...

 No, no, keep running! If you stop, you'll think, so please keep running.
Please...

 You don't run, you're just too tired. All you've ever done in your life is
run- everything else is a dream, unreal, something you made up to convince
yourself you've got someplace to go. Maybe you should turn around, walk
(yes, walk; slow, stately movement...) back, try to find Him. You can
reason with Him, maybe. It's not too late. Maybe you don't have to give Him
up, you can still...

 Don't be an idiot! If it was just you, maybe you could do that, it'd only
be your blood. But think of the children..
 The children!

 Now you are running again, not matter how much it hurts. You curse
yourself, because the fear is real again. Fool! Your husband is dead. That
thing they raised out of the grave is something else entirely. You have to
forget they have anything to do with each other, so that your sweet babies
can have just one little chance.... You place your hands against your small
belly, even as you run. They aren't there anymore, you'll never see them
again, but if you think about holding them you might just be able to keep
running.

 You hear a shot fired nearby. It echoes off the wall, so loud you stop and
cover your ears. Now you're moving again, though, because you have to get
back to the main streets. If you can just find a market place, or a crowd,
you might be able to loose them.. at least the soldiers. You know He (can
hear your heart beat) will be able to sense you. And maybe, just possibly,
if you can muster enough to be tricky you can evade Him too. At least until
its too late. Then it won't matter.
 (Oh, God, you just want to die...)

 Here, yes! There are people here, colorful birds seen through the blinding
snow. But they're used to it, here on this world, and you're just passing
through. The air around you feels heavy, like ice. Oh, how He must hate it
here...
 Shut up! Shut up! Don't think like that, you won't make it if you do.

 You can slow your pace, just a little, now. The people around you gaze on
you strangely, its like a dream (it is a dream) where everyone turns to
look at you. You must look so pale- like a ghost, your lips like blood,
eyes haunted.
 And you are so very haunted.
 
 Breathing is becoming difficult, again, your lips burn with the warm
breath and then chill in the cold. You almost want to stop again..
 But wait! See the Stormtroopers, who are no longer white in the presence
of the snow. See them? They're talking to the people up ahead, asking if
they've seen you. Someone shouts, points, you hear the sound of boots
against the concrete. You're running again, but you've barely noticed,
you've become so used to it. Go back the way you came, that's right, there
must be *some* place to hide. There's a flash of black, up head and..
 It's HIM!

 You only saw it briefly, but its burned into your eyes. He is tall, black
and nothing like (Ani, darling, what's happened to you?) your husband.
Whirling, you turn the other way. You're cornered, and He's coming (oh God,
oh God) slowly, purposefully, because He knows you have no place to go...
You rush across the street, before you think about it. It's a headlong
dive, and you're absolutely frightened out of your mind. The transports and
speeders are coming right towards you, some of them veer but others just
don't stop at all. But you must have enough momentum going, because you're
on the other side. Don't stop now! You dart down a back alley, then down
another. There are frozen people here, some dead and others only barely
alive, clustered along the walls. A few of them raise their heads as you
rush by, but you only see them vaguely. Another corner turned, and another.
There's a row of buildings here, empty ones. If they were occupied, you
wouldn't be able to bother at all because no one would let you in. No one
lives here, though, it's empty just like you. You pull on the metal doors,
briefly for each building, because you don't have much time. The clock is
ticking, as they say.

 Here! This door moves more than the others when you pull. You might be
able to get in. You brace your feet against the pavement, pull with all
you've got let. Listen? Do you hear that? Sounds like footsteps, like
labored breathing... You're jerking at the handle, desperately now. The
door suddenly gives, swings outward, and then inward as you try to balance
your weight. You tumble inside the building, lay there for a moment. When
you stop running, you find it's hard to start again. But you're laying here
on the floor, and the door is still open! Moving your foot, you kick the
metal door closed. There's a loud bang, and you're almost certain you've
been heard. You tilt your face against the cold wood floor, see the
staircase out of the corner of your eye. Now you move from the floor,
slowly, like a broken doll. Once you're on your feet, its easier. Now
you're climbing the stairs, two at a time, avoiding the ones that look like
they might cave. Upstairs, now, just one big room. You wish there was a
closet, or a wardrobe-- something to hide in-- but you're out of luck. Out
of breath, out of luck, out of time. But look, someone stacked folding
tables against the wall. They're at an angle, if you crawled behind them
you might have enough room to hide. You have nothing else, so you get down
on your knees and slip behind the tables. You move on all fours, and more
than once you cut your hands on metal or broken wood. The blood is all over
the place, and not just from your hands. The smell is sickening, almost
sweet, and very overwhelming in the small place you've huddled in. For a
long, long time you just sit and wait, because what the hell else can you
do? You rock, just a little, like a small child afraid of the dark.
 And the dark is coming...

 You hear it again, faintly, but there is nothing else in the room to hear
but your own breath, heart and things you don't want to. Footsteps now,
moving around downstairs, but He'll get to the staircase soon enough.
 You have to get out!

 But where will you go?

 Through the window, up onto the roof. It doesn't matter! You have to get
out!

 You don't have room to turn around behind the tables, so you just crawl
forward. The heavy cloak and gown catch, tear, but you don't notice. The
sounds are still down stairs, but how long, how long until they come up?
You stand, and pain explodes in your left leg, like a sudden Nubian
fireflower. Your leg is caught between the tables, and the sounds are
coming to the steps now. You jerk on it, no matter how much it hurts,
because you're an animal caught in a trap. Oh, where are your babies now?
 Don't think, don't think.
 You pull harder, and the tables give, crashing to the floor. Your leg is
free, and though you hear only silence (and that breathing, don't forget
that) downstairs you know its because He's paused. He knows you're upstairs
now, He's certain. You move forward blindly, bump into something. There's
another crash, and now another sound, because whatever you've knocked down
has fallen to the floor and caught fire. The color is so vibrant, the
flames and warmth so strange that you just *stare* at it a moment. The
wooden floor is dry, the fire spreads like a wild, hungry thing. You're
surrounded now,and so very afraid. You hate the fire, the smoke is brushing
against your face and catching in your lungs. Coughing wretchedly, you know
you can't breathe, and even though you try to run you only make it a few
steps before you fall back against the tables. You're so busy coughing and
straining for air that it's only now you notice He's reached the top of the
steps. He's so black and terrible, and look how the fire reflects off His
mask, and where is your Ani underneath all of that? You just look at Him,
you can do nothing else. You're stuck on your shrinking island in the
middle of the fire, and the heat is so overwhelming you think you might be
sick. How can He manage to look horrified, when He has no face to show you?

 The fire is hate, you realize. The cold was so much better because it only
wanted to solidify you, not eat you alive. He's still moving towards you,
trying to make it through the fire. Will He go even this far, just to drag
you back to His Emperor?
 (And where has you faith in Him gone?)
 Into the fire, with everything else!

 Oh, you're terrified- the fire is nipping at your gown, eating away at
your cloak. He's coming closer too, but not quickly enough. There are no
words to say what you feel now. The walls are on fire, everything burns,
except that which was once your Ani. You can't help it now. You reach out
to Him with your arms (Luke, Leia, I'm sorry but I just can't...). In His
mask, you see your reflection, which looks pathetically frightened, like a
child. Through the pain, you realize you're being burned alive, that the
fire has finally gotten to you. Now you know what He must have felt like.
Why is he still coming for you? Isn't He afraid of the fire?
 "Ani, help me..." your voice is broken, sounds so strange. He's almost to
you, He's reaching out to you too, but it's just way too late...
 You can't breathe.
 I can't breathe.
 'You' and 'I' are the same thing, and neither of us can breathe and we're
going to die...

WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!


```````````````````````````````````````````````
Amalone District, Northern Hemisphere
Imperial Center, Coruscant
```````````````````````````````````````````````

 ('WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!')

 She woke with the taste of blood in her mouth, her hand clutching at her
throat. She heard choking noises, but it only took her a few seconds to
realize they were her own. For a long, panicked while, she wasn't sure who
'I' and 'mine' and 'my' referred to.
 ('You' and 'I' are the same thing, and neither of us can breathe...)
 Her eyes rolled upwards, only to see the worried faces of her nurses, just
before one of them pried her mouth open and fairly shoved the breather
inside. The thoughts in her mind solidified as much as they could through
the fear, and things became more defined. Yalith Minborne, that was what
'I' meant. Her lips closed over the machine automatically and she felt it
force movement through the still air of her lungs. She fought the urge to
cough again, as her lungs fluttered helplessly. Having done the first part
of its job, the machine switched to regulating her breathing. In, out, in,
out. How she hated the rhythm! She closed her eyes, enduring, knowing that
without the machine she'd still be starving for breath, eventually drowning
with air all around her. Hovering above her, she saw the white robed nurses
clasping their hands to their hearts and looking blissfully grateful. They
looked a lot like carved angels. Didn't they put those above gravestones?
 Sometimes Yalith wished they would just let her die.
 (Oh, God, you just want to die...)

 Her breathing had to be regular for a full five minutes before they'd take
out the machine. Yalith watched the small crystal clock on her nightstand,
willing the numbers to change. The taste of metal spiked on her tongue, and
she almost thought the blood tasted better. Briefly, she thought she caught
the taste of smoke brought into her mouth through the machine, but an
attempt to breathe through her nose only brought on another coughing fit.
Now she'd have to wait another five minutes.
 Stupid lungs.


 "You can take it out now," Nurse Hanip said at last. Her voice and eyes
were kind as she helped Yalith remove the machine, and the young girl felt
suddenly guilty. She shouldn't have been angry with them earlier. After
all, they were only doing the job her father paid them to do; keep Yalith
alive. None of them knew her dark wish, and none of them ever would. If
they did, they would not let her have her wish, they'd only send her to the
mental hospital. And the people *there* wouldn't let her die, either.
 "Feeling better, dear?" Nurse Fallon asked sweetly, moving to help her
young charge sit up. Not for the first time, Yalith noticed that Fallon
wasn't much older than she was.
 "Much better," she lied smoothly. Her eyes flickered from face to face,
trying to read their intent. "I can still go to school, can't I?"
 "Now, Mistress, it's already past five hundred hours," Hanip began
reasonably, "You weren't breathing regularly for at least ten minutes. You
gave us quite a scare, and you know when you have bad mornings like this it
usually means you'll have a bad day..."
 "Please?" Yalith put on her best smile, sitting up straight and looking at
each of her nurses in turn, "I'm feeling better now. I've already missed
two days this week!"
 "Mistress..." Nurse Genea began.
 "I would like to go to school," she said regally. The young girl turned
her eyes to the Fallon, knowing the red-head held out the best chance of
caving. "The attack wasn't spontaneous," she added, inclining her head and
looking to the side, "I had a nightmare that triggered it." Nurse Hanip
looked at Genea pointedly.
 "I could have sworn I gave her the pills last night..." Genea said,
confusion coloring her tone.
 "She did," Yalith lied again, keeping her face carefully expressionless,
"But they obviously don't work as well as the medic droid said they would."
 Nurse Hanip's face was unreadable for several minutes before she finally
nodded, eying Yalith suspiciously.
 "You can go. But," she held up a finger, "if you feel even the slightest
twinge, I want you to call immediately. Don't wait around about it, we'll
send someone to fetch you." Nodding slowly, Yalith watched each of them
leave in turn.


 The numbers on the clock changed again, but still she did not move. Her
concentration focused on her breathing, but other concerns circled near by,
waiting for their turn. Mornings were her worst time of day, she felt out
of balance and unsure of her own reactions. Her eyes slipped closed for a
moment as she reached out with one hand. Without looking, her expert
fingers stole into the nightstand's drawer, returning with a small square
of cloth. Eyes still closed, she placed it fully over her mouth, and
listened. From down the hall there came the sound of Fallon making
breakfast; in the other room, Hanip was having a loud holo conversation
with someone from the Med Center. Where was Genea? Yalith's brow furrowed
in pain, but she forced herself to breathe only through her nose. Footsteps
in the hall, heavier than Fallon but lighter than Hanip. That's where Genea
was; fetching a clean school uniform. Relief apparent on her face, Yalith
coughed loudly, the sound muffled by the cloth. Pulling her hand away, she
looked down at the bloody mass laying in her palm. It was a large lump,
oozing red as it quivered. Perhaps it was breathing. More out of disgust
with herself than sickness, Yalith turned away from it, tying the cloth
into a neat little package before she hid it under her pillow. Now
breathing with as much ease as anyone, she rose from the bed and went to
dress for school.



```````````````````````````````````````````````
Super Star Destroyer: The Executioner
En Route to Coruscant
```````````````````````````````````````````````

 For Darth Vader, there was never any question of reality. The nightmare
and the waking world had long since merged; he slept and knew no difference
between them. Each was fueled by anger, the groping need for revenge, the
desire to find his son. The child was, after all, the only piece of Her
left in the depraved universe, his own human legacy... He woke with little
transition and rose efficiently, as if he had sat down just moments ago.
Through the filtered vision of the mask, he sometimes entertained the idea
that either reality had no end, or else his life was one long sleep. He
wasn't sure which was worse. And-- as much as he hated to admit it-- there
were times when he hovered on that vast, sinking, edge of meditation and he
would see Her as She had last been: eyes wide and afraid, body framed by
her burning cloak, which somehow looked like a pair of twisted wings. It
was only then that he desired to blur the line, to wake and (however
briefly) feel in his disorientation that he was back in the Time Before,
perhaps even imagine that she was somewhere in the room. The 'wiss-hur' of
the breather did not allow for such indulgences.
 Its sound penetrated even his sleep.

 Having assured himself that the machinery running his respiratory system
was   at top performance, the Sith Lord motioned for the computer to raise
the shell of the chamber. Normally he left all small uncertainties behind,
but this morning it seemed that something had followed him out, whispering
on the edge of his mind. Internally, he dodged the strange awareness that
had come in his sleep, some knowledge of... Vader cut the thought off,
abruptly, deliberately.

 Beneath the mask, his face arranged itself in an expression resembled a
frown, it was rare that he thought of his life before with anything aside
from distaste. It bothered him to find anything positive about it, though
on further reflection he concluded his thoughts had recently been colored
by the knowledge that his son would be almost eighteen soon. That must be
it. Of course, he had felt the entrance of his son into the world-- the
tremor in the Force had been impossible to ignore-- just before Obi-Wan
(and whatever or whomever was aiding him) hid it away. Over the years there
had been a few isolated glimmers, exploding without warning in pain,
happiness or sorrow, but they never lasted long enough to trace. That was,
perhaps, the most frustrating aspect of the puzzle.

 In the main room of his suite, he set to work on the computer, typing up a
report on the campaign on Thall. In truth, he could have delegated the task
to Captain Rebereae, but he preferred to do such things himself. (Expertly,
he dodged the idea that it was a diversion. There was no knowledge from
which to divert himself, except...) The Emperor would only be moderately
pleased with this news; more rebels had escaped then those captured, even
if Thall and its ancient matriarchal society were now securely under the
Emperor's thumb. Vader only felt half the frustration towards the Rebellion
the Emperor did, in his opinion the Rebellion would last only as long as
Mon Mothma and her lot remained alive. Even now, it seemed to  tapering
out-- unless they converted a truly brilliant warrior, they might well fade
into oblivion.
(That would not do, though, Vader wanted the personal pleasure of tearing
down that which She had helped to construct. Again, he turned away from the
hovering feeling of... something.) Even if the Rebellion was to disappear,
such luck would not save them from the Emperor's wrath, or Vader's solid
determination to stamp them out completely. If the slight failure on Thall
annoyed the Emperor, then there was every chance Vader would be sent away
again twice as quickly. The less time he was forced to spend on Coruscant,
the better.

 Satisfied with the report, Vader polished it off quickly and filed it
aside. He sat motionless for a moment afterwards, struggling against the
inertia of his nature, casting about for something to do, something to
occupy his mind, if only for a few minutes. If he sat still much longer, it
would come to him, this vanished and gone thing that was trying so
valiantly to rise from the ashes. He stood up prepared to stalk to the
door, head for the bridge where the presence of his underlings would surely
prevent any consideration of the Time Before. It had to be Her, he thought
with a healthy amount of bitterness. She intended to haunt him, appear on
the edges of his vision, a shadowy, airy form, and then disappear
altogether if he looked Her way. The weakling Anakin had died, but Vader
would never be free of Her. Part of him, an old part, considered this a
wonderful thing-- but the Sith Lord brushed it aside with ease. Yes, he
decided, he would go to bridge; there was no reason to approach this day
differently just because it was... Vader sat down, abruptly and heavily.

 With a sinking feeling in the heart he wasn't supposed to have, he
realized it was his anniversary.
 

```````````````````````````````````````````````
Amalone District, Northern Hemisphere
Imperial Center, Coruscant
```````````````````````````````````````````````

 Freshly dressed in the uniform of the Coruscant Select Academy for Ladies,
and freed at last from the constant worrying of her Nurses, Yalith was in a
considerably better mood than the one she woke up in. She even felt so
daring as to skip down the hallway outside her apartment-- a feat which
was, during her bad season, impossible to accomplish without a fit of
coughing. Smiling widely at the stranger in the lift, she toyed with the
ends of her long braids, feeling a bout of restlessness settle in with her
good mood. It seemed like a crime that she'd be stuck in her cramped desk
all day, especially since she felt more alive than she had in months. The
morning's confusion, as well as the dream ( no, no, not a dream, a memory )
had passed over her like a cloud on its way to someone else. Yalith
supposed that the Importance of the day had something to do with her good
mood. She didn't bother to analyze *why* the day felt important, she knew
from long practice that it would be futile. It was the same with the
strangers she met (the ones who seemed so familiar), and the places she
came to one her first visit (but knew her way around with startling
accuracy). On an intellectual level these things escaped her, but deep
down, they were there. So, she simply accepted the fact that today was
significant and moved on. She felt, insanely, that she ought to celebrate
somehow.
 "Hisae!" she called out when the lift opened at the bottom floor. Hisae,
Yalith's best friend, was easy to spot even across the large lobby.
 "You're late," the other girl remarked as Yalith came closer.  Hisae
crossed her arms in good-natured annoyance, glancing significantly at
Yalith's sparkling eyes and smile. "Here I am thinking the Mother Patrol
isn't going to let you come to school, and then you show up all bright eyed
and bushy tailed."
 "Well," Yalith pointed out, wagging her finger, "I almost didn't get past
them."
 "Really?"
 "Yeah," Yalith rolled her eyes heavenward in annoyance. By some unspoken
agreement, both girls headed towards the door, busy buttoning up their long
wool coats. She risked a glance at her watch, "We're going to miss our
train if we don't hurry. I'll explain on the way."
 "If we're late, can we can blame it on one of your attacks? I have three
tardies already, I can't afford anymore," Hisae said, tucking in her scarf,
then pausing to hold open the door.


 Outside, Coruscant's chilly morning air rushed over them, more intense
then it would have been in the lower levels of the city. Despite the
enormous control the planet's occupants exerted over the weather, there was
a marked drop in temperature towards the end of the year.
 "Three tardies?" Yalith asked once they were safely on their way to
station. The wind whistled through the city's tall caverns, forcing her to
raise her voice.
 "Uh-huh. Don't you remember that-- Oh, that's right, you missed a lot this
week,"  Hisae patted Yalith on the back, an understanding smile in her
green eyes. The other girl merely shook her head, ashamed with her
weakness. "Anyway, my brother came home for a visit two days ago, and he's
been keeping me up with all night with stories," she yawned, as if to
emphasize the point, "They're really great, though. I wish I could be a
Stormtrooper," Hisae's voice took on a sad note, "This 'males-only' thing
is plain mynok-poodoo."  Yalith flinched, but said nothing. She and Hisae
had gone round and round about their pseudo-political opinions, and they
both tried to to pick their battles. This was one Yalith avoided, mostly
because the chances of Hisae actually *becoming* a Stormtrooper were about
the same as her chances of sprouting wings to fly. It wasn't worth
jeopardizing their friendship over. Instead she reached up to tug on
Hisae's close-chopped bob of ebony hair.
 "Well," she winked, "This hair-cut may make you look boyish, but I think
you have a few other physical aspects that might just give you away."
 "You're cruel!" Hisae shrieked, giving her friend a playful shove. Yalith
returned the favor, and a scuffle ensued. Laughing, the smaller girl backed
up against the railing of high-street, hands raised in surrender.
 "I give, I give!" Yalith cried, gasping for breath.
 "You should give!" her friend responded, "I'd be the best damn
Stormtrooper in the Imperial Academy has ever seen!" She struck a fist
against her palm, green eyes determined.


 Still trying to regain her breathing pattern, Yalith merely nodded her
support. Abruptly, Hisae's triumphant smile faded. "Hey," she said, placing
a hand on Yalith's shoulder, "Are you alright?"
 "Uh-huh," the other girl managed, pushing the murmur through her blood-red
lips. The rest of her face was as colorless as a porcelain mask. Hisae
grabbed for Yalith's purse, intent on finding the portable machine inside,
but Yalith's long fingers held fast.
 "Don't you want your breather?" Hisae's eyes were wide in worry, and only
worry. Even in her distress, Yalith was thankful she found no pity there
in.
 "No," she tipped her head back, trying to draw air past the blockage in
her lungs. A taste, faint as a ghost, teased her nostrils; stale and sharp,
like honey. Smoke.  Panic surged, and the sound of hear heart beat was
heavy in her ears. 'There is no fire' Yalith told herself, pushing up the
sleeves of her heavy coat and exposing her arms to the cold. 'Feel that?'
she asked herself, 'No fire.'

('No fire..' something whispered distantly, like a sad low croon. 'Yes,
today is a happy and sad day'.)

 Yalith shuddered-- she felt the sadness hovering, and she wanted it to
leave. Better she think of today as isolated from

('He's so black and terrible, and look how the fire reflects off His mask,
and where is your Ani underneath all of that?')

 her nightmares. She closed her eyes, tried to dispel all knowledge save
that she was safe from the fire. Slowly, the metallic little butterfly
caged within her lungs feel silent and still; Yalith breathed deeply,
reached into her pocket for the scrap of cloth and coughed into it once.



 ".. please. You're scaring me, Yali!" Hisae was saying when Yalith's
senses returned completely.
 "Hmm?" she asked, blinking her wide gray eyes.
 "Don't you 'hmm?' me!" the ebony haired girl's hands where shaking, "A
minute ago it was like you were dead, and you wouldn't even use the
breather!"
 "I don't want to be dependent on a machine," Yalith spat, "Besides, I used
it once already this morning." She forced her lips into a reassuring smile
as she reached out to place a hand on Hisae's shoulder. "I'm fine now."
With her free hand, she expertly wadded up the now-bloody cloth and tossed
it into the nearest waste bin.
 Hisae's smile was weak, but real, "I must be the self-fulfilling prophet.
I said we'd use one of your attacks as an excuse, and now you're had one!"
 "School..." Yalith's eyes were wide as she glanced down at her watch,
"Holy Force, our train leaves in three minutes!"
 "Relax," Hisae waved a hand about, "We're late, we'll only miss Modern
History."
 "Hisae...!" the other girl exclaimed, "We have a test in there today!"
 "No, that's next..." Hisae blinked rapidly. "Oh, Maker, I didn't study!"
 Yalith rolled her eyes, "Come on, I'll quiz you on the train. We need to
hurry!" With that, the two girls proceeded to partake in a ritual that
would persist amongst students in spite of the Empire or the Rebellion: the
mad dash to school.
 

--------------------


 Hisae set her lunch tray down roughly, watching the delicate glass plates
and silverware jump and land haphazardly.
 "No only did I royally screw up my Modern History test," she said,
slumping into her chair, "but I *know* I failed that little Etiquette quiz
they decided to spring on us." Glancing up at Yalith, she realized the
other girl hadn't moved since her arrival. Yalith had her chin rested on
her hand, head bent towards the large window and eyes a million miles away.
Her relaxed face seemed to belong to a stranger. "Yalith...?" the dark
haired girl ventured.
 "Yes?" Yalith blinked her opal eyes rapidly. To Hisae, it seemed that
someone pealed back a veil, revealing the girl she knew.
 "Coruscant to TIE cadet Yalith," Hisae joked, waving a hand in the other
girl's face, "Did you hear a word I said?"
 "I did," the brown-haired girl blushed, "but it sounded different. Kind of
far away." She speared a slice Corellian lamp-light fruit with her fork and
chewed thoughtfully. "Anyway, I wouldn't worry about failing Etiquette-- it
just means that no ne of the pompous bastards in the Emperor's court will
marry you. Consider it a compliment." She winked, eyes sparkling.
 "True," the other girl shrugged, "Say, speaking of the Emperor, aren't we
up to be presented to Court soon?"
Yalith made a face, "Yeah, in two months. I'm hoping to plead sick-- you
know I'm the last person who wants to go bow and scrape to the Emperor."
 "Yali!" Hisae looked appropriately horrified, but Yalith wasn't sure if it
was a personal expression, or one made do to the presence of their
teachers. The ebony haired girl jerked her thumb over her shoulder, drawing
her friend's attention to the Instructor near-by. Instructor Al'Tinom, the
stiff-backed woman who taught Literature, eyed both girl's suspiciously.
Yalith flashed a blindly innocent smile in the teacher's direction, knowing
full well how unpopular her sentiments were amongst the faculty. Somehow,
Yalith couldn't find it in herself to care, always dancing on the fine line
between sarcastic comments and treason.
 "Oh, yes, that was smooth," Hisae rolled her eyes, "One of these days,
they're going to up and execute you."
 "I'll be dead before I'm twenty anyway," Yalith shrugged.

 Silence stretched before them, not uncomfortable, but strange. Hisae
wasn't sure which she found more disturbing-- the idea that her friend
truly wouldn't be alive long enough to grow up, or the fact that it really
didn't bother Yalith. She wondered how long Yalith had known, then thought
she must have been told long ago. It had to take many years to cultivate
that type neutrality to ones own end. With a sad look in her eyes, Hisae
pushed her pudding around in the bowl, making random patterns of swirls and
zig-zags that led no where.


 "Well," she said at last, "at least the testing portion of today is over."
 "Hmm? Oh, no, we still have Math, remember?" Yalith's voice was automatic;
her chin back in her hand and her face once more remote. Hisae thrust her
tray aside so she could bang her head on the table in frustration with
muffled 'why me!?', and it was only after she had done this that she
realized Yalith was paying only the barest attention.
 "There's something strange about you today," Hisae remarked with
certainty.
 "What..." Yalith shook her head, pressing two fingertips against her
temples as she furrowed her brows. "I'm sorry," she apologized, "I only
heard part of what you said."
 "I said you're acting strangely today-- even for you," the other girl
moved her arms, needing a way to express her frustration. "It's like you're
not even here! This isn't like you." For a moment there was silence, but it
reverberated for so long that Hisae was almost certain that Yalith had been
drawn away again by... whatever was outside the window. There was more than
that, she knew, but somehow her mind shied away from it.
 "I *feel* strange," Yalith said quietly, running a finger along the edge
of her glass. "I don't know... I feel off balance. Different, like I'm
wearing the wrong body."
Hisae blinked at the odd description, "... the wrong body?"
 "And I'm in the wrong place, the wrong time," the brown-haired girl's
words came more quickly, staccato beats, like the fire from a blaster.
"I've ridden the emotional roller coaster at least ten times already today.
One minute I'm happy, today being what it is, and the next the same thing I
was happy about makes me sad. Not usual sad either."
 "Sad how, then?"
 "Like," the words brushed against Yalith's tongue as she tried to
translate emotion to imagery. "Like being so far under water that you can't
even see a bit of sunlight." Hisae nodded, pressing her thin lips together.
Her mind caught on something and she frowned.
 "You said something about today," she pointed out. Her emerald eyes
searched Yalith's face, looking for a familiar reaction, "What's so special
about today?"
 "Oh, that," color, soft and pink, rose to Yalith's cheeks as she lowered
her eyes to contemplate her drink. A smile, fleeting smile formed on her
lips. "Today is just special, that's all." Hisae sat back in surprise,
she'd never before seen Yalith this way, wistful, almost... she searched
her mind for the word, but couldn't find the right one. The smile lingered
on the other girl's face for a moment longer, before Yalith shook her head
violently. She raised her opal eyes to Hisae, imploring. "See! It doesn't
make any sense! It's like I'm feeling the wrong things, too." Unsure of
what to say, Hisae reached across the table to touch her friend's hand,
worry marring her wide features.
 "Do you want to call your nurses?" she suggested, "Maybe if you go
home..."
 "If I go home they will be insufferable," the bitterness was plain in
Yalith's tone,    "Besides, I don't think this can be stopped with anything
short of a concussion. I'll just have to stick it out here."
 The other girl's sigh was more like a hiss, "If you're sure..."


 "Sure about what?" The new voice injected so roughly that both girl's
started, staring like guilty children towards the girl who'd approached
their table. Yalith took one look and quickly turned back to the window.
 "Morja," Hisae managed, trying to make her tone apologetic. Yalith's
reaction was understandable; Morja was more Hisae's friend. "Hello. Is
there something I can do for you?"
 "Oh, I was just wondering if I could sit with you," Morja's voice, like
the rest of her, was altogether colorless, "I'm taking lunch this period
instead of next because of testing."  Moving her chair, Hisae eyed her
classmate cautiously-- she didn't like interacting with her when Yalith was
around. She managed a small 'sure', and hoped that Morja wouldn't try to
tease Yalith as she usually did. Morja nodded curtly, much like the
Imperial Commander her father was, and seated herself carefully. All the
while, her narrow eyes were on Yalith, who was either transfixed with that
'something' in the sky, or doing a very good job of ignoring the intruder's
presence.
 "So, what were you ladies talking about?" Morja prompted. There was
something about her speech that made her seem older, or else more
condescending. To Hisae's eternal surprise, Yalith was the one who
answered.
 "The math test next bell," Yalith lied loosely, "I studied all last night
and I still don't feel prepared."
 "Oh, me too," Morja's tone was as distracted as Yalith's, and Hisae could
see her craning her neck to see just what was so fascinating outside. "It
will be tough, that's for sure."
 "Hmmm..." was the brown-haired girl's reply.
 "May I ask what you're looking at?" Morja was all innocence, but Hisae
thought she could detect another motive somewhere between the words.
"There's something in the sky."
 "Yalith," Hisae said, "There's always something in the sky. We have some
five million tons of hardware orbiting the planet."
 "No, look," Yalith pressed a long, delicate finger against the glass,
indicating a gray shape outlined in the morning sky. Hisae gwaffed; at
first the small triangle looked to be the usual planet side view of a Star
Destroyer but, upon closer inspection, it was clearly something else.
Hisae managed to express her feelings elegantly: "What the hell is that?"
 "That?" asked Morja. She was leaning over Yalith's shoulder, shielding her
eyes from the sun. She looked a moment longer, then sat back down with a
laugh. "Oh, that. I guess you haven't heard about it yet."
 "What is it?" Yalith turned towards Morja, staring at the other girl as if
she had all the answers.
 "It's called a Super Star Destroyer," clearly, Morja was bragging on
behalf of the entire Imperial Navy, "Bigger than three Star Destroyers and
ten times as powerful. It's a like a whole city in space," her hands moved
quickly, to illustrate the point, "The Emperor is giving them to his most
loyal officers, as a token of his appreciation."
 "How kind of him," Yalith rolled her eyes.
 "That's the first one off the line," Morja went on, oblivious to the other
girl's barb, "It's called the 'Executioner'."
 Hisae made a low whistle of a approval. "The 'Executioner'," she said,
getting a taste for it.
 "Oh, it gets better," Morja's voice vibrated with excitement and pride,
"They tested her out in a space battle near Thall. You know, that planet
that's been giving the Emperor so much trouble? Well, the 'Executioner'
plowed the field! They say she's amazing!"
"How do you know this?" asked Yalith.
 "Oh," Morja tossed her tight curls, "My dad was promoted and reassigned.
He was aboard the 'Executioner' for the Thall Campaign."
 "That must be exciting," Hisae said.
 "Oh, it is," Morja climbed to her feet, glancing at the clock, "I want to
go see Resu before the bell rings. Nice talking to you!" She took a few
dainty steps, then looked over her shoulder. "Oh, Hisae, I meant to tell
you that Resu and I are going to the El'Hafta Square at the end of the
week. You can come with us, if you like." Glancing at Yalith, Morja added
guiltily, "You can come too, Yalith. If you want to." Without another word,
she stalked off towards the other side of the dinning hall.


 "Thanks for the offer," Hisae called after her. Turning back to Yalith,
Hisae asked, "I wonder what she really wanted."
 Yalith shrugged her slim shoulders, "Instructor Al'Tinom probably sent her
over to make sure I wasn't asking you to join the Rebellion."
 "As far as I know," the other girl ventured, "*you're* not a member of the
Rebellion."
 "Not yet, anyway," Yalith waged her finger, hurriedly munching on the
remains of her meal.
 "Yali!" Hisae shook her head, alternating between annoyance and amusement.
In the back of her mind, she couldn't help but notice that despite the fact
Yalith had an explanation for the Super Star Destroyer, the other girl
still seemed to be forcibly keeping herself from staring at it.
 "Sorry," Yalith muttered, in a way that said she really wasn't. For some
time, the only sounds between them were those of silverware against glass,
and the soft chunk of fruit broken in half. All the while Hisae watched her
friend covertly, feeling the need to ask a question but lacking the words
to do so. She found them quite suddenly.
 "Why were you looking at the... the Super Star Destroyer, Yalith? What
made you see it in the first place?" Something that was like a shadow, but
not, seemed to pass over Yalith's face. Hisae thought she heard the other
girl say 'someone I...' but the rest of it was lost in the din as the bell
rang for class.




```````````````````````````````````````````````
Super Star Destroyer: The Executioner
Orbiting Coruscant
```````````````````````````````````````````````

 Vader felt watched, the corners of his world turning upward in someone
else's vision. It was a sensation that raced along his back (though,
really, there were only wires there now), like the memory of Her as she
watched covertly from the window, then let the curtain fall aside when he
sensed Her gaze. The ghost of an image, held only because the eye had not
yet sensed it was gone.
 'I'm projecting,' he told himself roughly. He paced the bridge like a
caged panther, holding the energy to himself should he really need to
escape. Of course, flight was never an option, but it was something like
that. An animal instinct. The sound of activity buzzed around him and Vader
found some small amount of satisfaction in the level of fear his own slight
(it *had* to be slight) discomfort roused in those under his command. Fear
could be drawn from, like dipping a ladle into a well, swiftly and quietly.
He wondered, sometimes, if his men ever noticed the power he drew from
them. Were there symptoms? Fatigue, dizziness, detachment perhaps? Vader
had no way of knowing what the side effects his draining induced. He cared
little either way; the Dark Side demanded fear or anger, but it was always
best to have both. They could feed off each other in an uninterrupted
cycle, a shield against the pathetic Light and memories of Her.

  He needed to run, such was the pressure building up inside him. It was an
old feeling; faded anticipation, affection forced into exile, mixed with
excitement and somehow polished new. There was so much of it, the old-new
energy, that-- as absurd as the idea of running was-- Vader was tempted to
sprint from the bridge. Instead, his brain sent impulses that forced the
wires in his 'hands' to clench. It wasn't quite the same as  balling one's
fist, but it would have to do. The fists were gone now.
 "Lord Vader," he turned swiftly to see the bland Lieutenant before him,
looking white faced with fear.
 "Yes?"  his voice was firm, expectant.
 "M-my Lord," the Lieutenant looked as if he was resisting the urge to
close his eyes and steel himself, "We have a message from the Emperor. He
requests your presence planet side for considerable length, the message
says." Inwardly, Vader frowned in distaste. He had been hoping for another
rebellion to quell, rabble-raisers to silence, something that demanded his
immediate attention.
 "Very well," his voice betrayed nothing, for there was nothing to betray,
"Prepare my shuttle."
 "Yes, my Lord." A quick bow, and the soldier was gone. Vader turned toward
the view port, hands held behind his back and hidden by the cloak. Without
meaning too, his stretched his senses, seeking the new and bleeding
awareness in the Force. It had been there before, he realized, but it had
been eclipsed by something else. With so much of the physical world closed
to him, Vader had a practiced ease with turning his focus to the
Force-filled level. He saw it much like a mechanical diagram, superimposed
over what the eye took in. The presence was maddening; it's prior existence
a mystery. How had he missed it before? Without any knowledge of its actual
location, he pushed at it, and it hummed with emotion like a glass chime.
 

["I'd come back for you, if you took too long."]
Her voice, hushed but close in the warm darkness.
NO!

 A low growl of frustration burst past the breather, amplified by the mask,
and it made the officers jump. Vader felt their eyes on him but paid them
no heed. Instead, he bent his head ever so slightly, still listening to the
ripple of that little glass chime in the Force.
 'She's dead,' he told himself. He knew she was dead; he'd touched Her cold
body and laid it in the ground. The knowledge of Her final resting place
was his alone, even if he'd never gone back. It wasn't enough, though, Her
death was hard to comprehend no matter how long it had been. So, Vader made
himself do it all over again; he made himself climb the broken stairs to
the almost-empty room where she'd been hiding. The pattern of his breathing
was overwhelming even in his own ears, new as it was, and it seemed to fill
the room and then some. Forcing the recollection, he saw her small form
draped in wine-red, saw her frantic attempts to get away.
 'Now the fire,' he told himself, and remembered that too. He saw her
stumble, curl in on herself as the flames spilled onward and the fire gave
her wings. Then her eyes, he couldn't forget to remember her eyes and how
frightened/scared/hopeless/hurt they looked, and how he was the last thing
she'd seen.
He needed to do this, from time to time, to make sure he knew the
difference between Anakin-who-was-dead and the man he had become. The
memory, though exhausting, served as punctuation where Anakin and Vader
blurred.
 This was how he kept himself sane.

 Firmly where he felt he should be, Vader strode from the bridge and
towards the docking bay. Even Coruscant, so Force-filled and alive, seemed
bearable now that the world was back on the proper axis. The Sith Lord
thrust away his awareness of the other presence, and its new hidden weave
through the Force. He would not be weak, he would not allow himself to
entertain the illusion of Her existence. Today was like any other day.


[ "I'd come back for you, if you took too long." ]





```````````````````````````````````````````````
Kyoshima District, Northern Hemisphere
Imperial Center, Coruscant
```````````````````````````````````````````````


 You're so cold. You know He's coming, there isn't much time left, so you
just keep running. Down one of the alley-ways you see rows of people,
frozen, uncaring, with their faces like gray masks. You look at them,
imploring, your gaze asks 'will you help me?' but few of them look at you,
and the ones that do seem dead. Their eyes are hallow, hallow like his
mask, like the Death's Head that is chasing you. Oh...


 Yalith felt herself drawn back along with her body, swaying suddenly as
the train pulled into the station. The gray masks sharpened and came into
focus, becoming the faces of those strangers ridding in the tunnel car. For
a moment she continued to stare at the crowd, trying to memorize the detail
in their expressions, to draw forth some humanity.
 "Yali," impatient tugging on the sleeve of her coat, "come on, this is our
stop."  She glanced at the display, frowning, and tried to loosen Hisae's
grip on her wrist.
 "No, this is Kyoshima... aren't we going to Omoshiroi Shokudo?" Yalith
stumbled towards the door regardless, barely managing to grab her school
bag as she trailed helplessly after Hisae.
 "Yeah, but Resu says Morja knows another way to get there that's much more
interesting," the other girl explained, pushing her hand through her ebony
locks and scanning the busy terminal for their friends. "Could it have
killed them to wait even a second?" she mumbled.
 "Probably," Yalith sighed through her teeth. Suddenly, she gestured
towards the flight of stairs leading out into the city, "No wait, there
they are."

 She held on to her frustration as they made their way through the crowd--
at least she knew it belonged to her alone. Hisae called out to the other
girls, making Yalith flinch. The terminal was like a seashell, taking
voices and laughs and the click-clack of high-heels and mixing them up into
one big echo. Strange, how so many different people-- humans, aliens, and
droids-- could make a rhythm like that. It was like the sound of the ocean
far off, saying that it was bringing in something on the next wave. Of it's
own will, Yalith's hand delved past her coat and into her skirt pocket,
grasping for the small medical communicator. She felt the smooth black
button under her finger, knew that pressure was all she had to apply and
her nurses would send someone to fetch her. The next wave could be avoided,
she didn't had to be there when it broke on the shore. In the next moment,
her thoughts rang with disbelief, chiming with the excitement that had
somehow crept into her veins. Color rose to her cheeks; this might be it,
the pinnacle of her strange memory, where the nightmare broke into the
surface of reality. With the renewed focus, she quickened her pace until
she was the one pulling Hisae along.

 "Is there some hurry I don't know about?" Hisae asked when they'd mounted
the steps. Morja stood at the top, arms crossed impatiently over her chest.
Resu leaned against the wall beside her, a girl with copper skin and hair
just a shade darker.
 "No, no hurry," Morja smiled blandly.
 "Anyway," Resu added in her perpetual soft-and-breathy whisper, "We
thought you," she aimed her blue gaze towards Yalith in particular, "were
going home."
 "No," Yalith pursed her lips, "if I had been going home I would have..."
she took one look at the emotion flickering on Resu's face. "Oh, never
mind."
 "Morja," Hisae's voice sounded quickly, rushing in to fill the silence,
"aren't you going to show us the short cut?"
 "Oh, of course," Morja flipped her hair, turned on her heal and walked
towards the door with a confident swish of her skirt, "Come along, ladies."
Hisae looped her arm through Yalith's and turned towards her.
 "Sorry about that," she whispered as they fell into step behind Morja and
Resu.
 Yalith shook her head, eying Resu with subtle distaste, "It's not your
fault." Hisae smiled gratefully.
 "Come on," she said, "I'll play you at one of the TIE simulators once we
get to Omoshiroi. My treat."


 Once outside, Morja lead them confidently through the myriad levels and
streets of Coruscant's upper-class shopping district, crossing streets and
turning down back pathways seemingly at random. Yalith kept her gaze on the
brightly lit shop windows, watching as their shimmering doubles flickered
across the endless displays of dresses and jewelry. The wind picked up,
whistling through the tall buildings and pushing the clouds over to cover
the already pale sun. The shadows thrown on the side walk had begun to fade
by the time Morja stopped and announced, "Here's the main event!"
 "Oh..." the word was small as it escaped from Yalith's mouth. Before her
stretched one of the longest walkways she'd ever seen, suspended high above
the lower levels as if daring itself to fall. It was obviously the fancy of
an inspired architect, fashioned out of clear blue stones that allowed one
to see city bellow as they walked across.
 "Damn," Hisae smiled, pulling at her scarf. The wind was even stronger on
the bridge, roaring heedlessly past the barrier of wire that lined the
walk-way.
 "I told you it was worth the detour," Morja arched a triumphant eyebrow.
 "Sure you want to come with us, Yali?" Resu asked with thick sweetness,
"The height won't upset your breathing, will it?"
 "No," Yalith ground out. Morja coughed delicately and gestured toward the
row of stores at the far end of the walk way.
  "Shall we, then?" she asked. Giggling, the four girls began to move,
clinging to one another as they gazed down to where the city disappeared
into the dark levels of the underworld.
 "Sweet Maker," Hisae leaned towards the wire fencing, "we must be near the
political district. Look at all the landing platforms!"
 Resu squealed, "Oh! See any one we know?"
 "That might be Lady Haytho," Morja pointed to a far deck, "but it's kind
of hard to tell from here." They stood still for a while craning their
heads to see if that really was so-and-so, and if was even possible that
you-know-who would come to Coruscant in a trashy little ship like *that*.
Yalith stood and watched them, still but not stiff, shivering with the cold
and building anticipation. Presently, the game grew boring and the group
continued on. It seemed as if it was the city that moved beneath their
feet, and not the other way around.

 
 And then the wave broke, smoothing itself over Yalith and drawing her back
out to sea. Later, she would not be able to recall how she detached her
hand from Hisae's with uncanny ease, or that she turned from the others and
forgot that they ever were. She moved slowly to the other side of the
bridge, one foot in front of the other, hands loose at her sides. The
school bag slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground with the muted
thunk, before it too passed out of her realm. The wind moved through her
long brown locks, played with the end of her skirt, brushed against her
scarf like a mother trying to draw an infant from a nightmare. Yalith paid
it no heed as she threaded her long fingers in the wire fence, bracing
herself. Tilting her head, she ran her eyes over the world below, searching
for something nameless. There was a landing pad close by, lined with
Stormtroopers and other officers but empty at the middle. It was waiting
for a ship.
 "An..." said Yalith, fascinated. Her tongue touched briefly against her
chapped lips, tasting the word she'd almost said. A loud hiss reached her
ears, the sound of a shuttle pulling in its wings, landing on the platform.
The Stormtroopers stayed where they were, like decorative statues. The was
another long, suspended moment as hatch opened and the ramp extended,
sending a barely noticeable quiver of fear through the company of soldiers.
From her vantage point, Yalith drew in a swift breath. She stood at the
threshold; she suddenly knew she was an innocent, and that the knowledge
would destroy the innocence in turn.

 "Ana..." shadows were spilling out of the shuttle, congealing, taking
physical form. A figure emerged, dark and tall and horrible,

[ He's so black and terrible, and look how the fire reflects off His mask,
and where is your Ani underneath all of that? ]

 using the face of death to hide its own. She knew that face intimately,
knew it as  the incarnation of antithesis; a source of pain and comfort,
loved and hated, needed and rejected so utterly. For a moment, Yalith was
within her nightmare, seeing the world through the haze of her 'other
self'. The feeling spiraled back, brushing past the monster and into a time
when he didn't exist. She saw through the cloak of shadows and the death's
head mask, to the core. There was someone else (some one important, someone
loved) there, inside the Shadow Man, just as there was someone else inside
of Yalith. She drew her breath past hot tears; perhaps it wasn't quite like
that. She stared openly, eyes wide and breath shallow.
 Suddenly, He looked up, so quickly that it was hard to register.
 "Anakin..." the word was unfamiliar and broken. Her fingers tightened
their grip painfully as she sagged against the fencing.
 

 The world caught fire.



--------------


 The presence was close, Vader was sure of it the moment he stepped off the
shuttle. Annoyance and anger made it easy to channel through the Dark Side,
though the Sith Lord was not sure whether he was trying to locate the
presence of ignore it. This close, it seemed so like it that it was absurd
to think her dead, but...
 "Lord Vader," Grand Moff Tarkin, the shriveled man Vader found personally
revolting, made a low sweeping bow as he detached himself from the row of
other officers. "It is a pleasure, as always."
 "Is there some need for your presence here, Tarkin?" it came out slowly as
Vader reigned in his temper. He sensed some of what the Emperor was
planning in Tarkin's surface thoughts.
 "But of course," Tarkin's smile was a mere lifting of muscles. "The
Emperor will speak with us all," he gestured to the other Admirals and
Grand Moffs, "in regards to his new project." There was nothing that could
be said to that, so Vader nodded. It was not a good sign that the Emperor
had sent Tarkin to fetch him, so to speak. The Master must suspect about
the son of Skywalker, must have sensed that Vader knew more than he let on.
Impossible, it seemed, especially since Vader knew only little more than
the Emperor, but the secret was there. He tried to remember when he could
have let down his guard, only to be distracted by the presence. It let
loose with another ripple of emotion, very strange and concave, that rang
throughout the Force. Vader found it intoxicating; at close range it was
impossible to miss, and for a moment he simply concentrated on the feeling
of Padme's aura  as it brushed against his own. Amazing, how the mind could
convince itself that a memory was valid; he'd thought he could recall what
it felt like, the blinding touch, but oh how his mind had deceived him! The
contact was so much more prolonged than the last, which had soured as her
soul slipped away and....

'Padme` is dead.'

 Vader looked up sharply. There had been an end to Padme`, an erasure of
her presence, so how was that he could touch her now? Only She could
generate that aura, her Force signature was unique above all. Insanely, he
thought he caught her scent. Padme's perfume, the kind in the red and gold
bottle, the kind she dipped her fingers into and pressed against her neck,
her wrists and...
 The Sith Lord found his gaze drawn to one of the walkways above and, just
for a moment, his lungs rebelled against the rhythm of the breather.



 For there, suspended above him and chilled by the wind, stood the wife of
Anakin Skywalker.



=====================================================

BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

*puppy eyes* All I want for Christmas is some feedback....