I wear a mask, and it goes deeper than the black that covers my face.

Below that mask, there is broken skin, burned by fire and lava and seared by swords and dirt. Beneath that broken skin there is a broken soul, torn apart by pain and diversity, ripped to shreds by Light and Dark.

I am the first to admit that I have nothing but power now.

Sometimes, it's not enough.

My mask protects me, both figuratively and literally. I am no longer Anakin Skywalker; I am Darth Vader, consort of the Dark and enemy of the Light. I was powerful then; I am more powerful now. No longer do I have to hide behind the rules of the Jedi, the rules of Obi-Wan and Yoda. I make my own rules. I fight for the Dark, and my mask is complete. My mask is never broken, it is only shattered. It is not real. It is nothing- only protection. I don't want it. I need it.

But beneath that mask, I am threatened daily to fall even deeper than I already have.

Because beneath it all, I still am Anakin Skywalker. Beneath it all, there is still feeling. There is still love. Maybe. I can feel it sometimes, burning in my chest- if there even is a heart left- pulling on my feelings. I'm not supposed to have feelings. I am a machine. I am built to feel nothing. My body moves mechanically, and my breathing is fake- but they couldn't take my heart away, no matter how much they wanted to. I still feel.

I can't help it. I must feel. If I can't even feel pain, or sorrow, or maybe even joy, I'm not alive. Really, I'm not alive. I died back in the lava- I died the moment I turned away from the Light. I died when I turned my back on Obi-Wan and my fellow Jedi. I died when I no longer knew what my alliance was- when I no longer understood the differences between wrong and right, Light and Dark. It was then I ceased to be everything I had been made to be. I broke away. I broke away.

It's something I'm not proud of. It's what makes me unable to let go.

They say power can go to your head, make you blind to what really matters and what is truly important. Maybe it was the want for power that drove me to fall so hard and so fast, to ultimately be so weak when I was aiming to be so strong. Maybe it's true. Maybe I was so selfish that nothing else mattered except that drive to get what I really wanted. But beneath that, my memory hasn't failed me yet- another thing they can't take away from me. I remember Padme. I remember Obi-Wan. I remember being Anakin Skywalker, slave boy home on Tatooine. I remember it.

I have never been free.

All my life, invisible chains have bound me. When I was a boy, slavery encompassed my life and my mother's life. When I was an apprentice, and later a Jedi, I was bound to the Order and to the rules that commanded it. Now, a tool of the dark, I am enslaved by my own mask. The mask that I, I myself, put up.

Nothing comes from nothing, and my mask came from my fear. Fear of losing; fear of winning. Fear or death; fear of life. Fear of not being enough; fear of being too much. It goes both ways. I was never good enough. Maybe for others, I was- for Padme, and maybe even for Obi-Wan. But never for myself. I could never avenge the deaths that had been caused because of me, the deaths that could have been prevented if only I had been stronger. I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't.

And now, my mask covers everything. It covers my face, over the broken, red and white skin that is flawed and marred beyond belief. It covers my heart, barely beating. It covers my soul, so cracked that I wonder if I really do know what it means to be alive. I'm not alive.

I have fallen into the hole that I promised I would never enter, the chasm that I know I cannot get out of.

I can hear screams, still. Even beneath the mask. I hear Padme's screams, and Obi-Wan's pleading words- I hear the cries of the children and the innocents that I have brutally slain, all for the sake of getting what I, and I alone, wanted. The sounds echo in my ears, and tear at the heart and the soul I have left. That doesn't go away, ever. The Dark does not care about memories or pain. We are all machines; we are all insane. We are built to handle anything. I have no sympathy here, and to tell the truth, I give no sympathy. No one is deserving of it.

Not even me.

It is my fault that I am in this mess. My fault, and I say that openly- perhaps with a bit of shame. This really is all my fault. What it comes down to is that my greatest fear came true. I wasn't strong enough. Palpatine told me I wouldn't be, but he told me I could become. And that is where my weakness lies. I fear failing. I fear falling.

I failed; I fell.

And now, no one sees beyond the mask.

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Please review. In case you couldn't tell, this is from Anakin's POV.