Cold.
Summary: And he watches her go, knowing he deserves this. Pain. Torment over his sins.
It was cold. That was all he registered in his grief-filled mind. It was cold.
She was gone; her precession following her. Her brown curls spread out, white flowers lovingly arranged into them. Her hands - oh, her beautiful, soft hands – clasped over her stomach. Her stomach where their child rested. Their child. That would never see the light; never see his face.
But who would want to now? His face – once handsome, now scarred. Burned. Who would want to see that?
All he had done, all he had sacrificed, and now he had nothing? That wasn't fair. How was that fair? He gave himself to the Sith, and she still died! He killed hundreds, and she still died. He killed a part of himself, and she still died.
Padme.
His wife. The mother of his child. His soul mate.
Tears rolled down his cheeks inside the mask, burning his tender skin. But he didn't care. She was gone; pulled from her life, pulled away before he had one last chance to say, "I love you." Gone.
Forever.
He could see here now, hear he now. "Ani," She'd whisper, late at night, her hands clasped within his. "I love you Ani."
Ani. He wasn't that person now. He didn't deserve the privilege of having someone who loved him around. He didn't deserve to love. He'd killed her.
This was what he deserved. Pain. Grief. Torment over his sins. He'd killed them, so they'd taken her. He'd turned evil; hurt her, so she was gone. He'd killed Younglings, so his was gone. He'd scarred faces, so they'd scarred his. He deserved all he got.
Padme. His loving Padme, who'd never wanted a war in the first place. Who'd, even at the last moment, when nothing was going her way, beg him to go away with her, to leave this all behind. To leave the Sith behind. And he'd refused, like a fool. Not seen the love she had still held for him. He'd struck her down, killed her, all because he 'loved her'.
He'd killed her.
She was gone now, her beautiful form underneath the ground, hands still clasped over her stomach.
He turned, a mass of machine, his breathing mechanical.
It was cold.