THANKS to Jean Genie for the beta-reading of the original Italian version of my fiction.

Although I did my best with the translation, please note that English is a foreign language to me.

DECLARATION: This fiction is written just for fun and I'm not making money with it. Characters and Star Wars galaxy belong to Lucasfilm and Disney, of course.

NOTE: As much as I tried to avoid graphic scenes, this fiction is still about a death sentece and so some passages and issues could be disturbing for sensitive people – you are warned!

Three days before the execution

"In the name of free people of the Galaxy and the Council of the Alliance for the restoration of the Republic, after examining evidences and witnesses, this Court judges Anakin Skywalker, also known as Darth Vader, guilty for the crimes of coup d'état, missed compliance with interplanetary norms about treatment of war prisoners, unlawful imprisoments, war crimes, numerous tortures, slaughters aggravated by racial hate, numerous murders, numerous murders aggravated by trivial reasons, religious genocide, planetary genocide and enviromental damage on planetary level. Therefore, we sentence him to death, which has to be executed in three days by removal of breathing apparatus".

Tears of joy, clappings and clamour follow the reading of the sentence, as if that's a fortunate surprise. I can't help but smile bitterly. This trial outcome was predictable since its very start: was it really needed to question hundrieds of witnesses to know that Darth Vader is a war criminal and deserves nothing but death?

A morbid nosiness spreads around. What is to be expected now? An attempt of escape? Or maybe some esoteric telepathic choke of the judge? It wouldn't be really so hard to break out even here, inside the crowded courthouse. Alliance isn't well experienced to take into control a Force user: obviously its officers don't know they must administer proper drugs and use fitting electromagnetic restrictions. So, besides the usual jailers, all the countermeasures are a couple of snipers, not even hidden. Indeed, there's just one individual into this courtroom who could be a real obstacle to flight, but I highly doubt that he would perfom properly his duty in this exact moment.

Anyway it doesn't matter, because Anakin Skywalker, also known as Darth Vader, means to do nothing at all! And, sure enough, I can see a slight disappoitment is forming for his lack of reaction.

As a matter of fact, beyond doing nothing, I can even feel nothing. I've been ready for this day since months ago and death is a much better prospect than the life of regret I will expect as an alternative. Frankly, I'm enough worried for the coming piercing pain that will be caused by the removal of the breathing apparatus and I find disturbing the humiliation of my awful scars being shown to enjoyed witnesses. But – honestly speaking – can I complain if I compare this to how I dealt with my prisoners?

Plus, in this moment, I have more severe concerns than the end of my despicable life.

I can feel Luke's stunned grief through the Force. It looks like I can give this boy nothing but grief and sorrow, even when I'm standing with him.

Why didn't you leave me dying on the Death Star, my son? If I hadn't fainted, I would have begged you to take my mask off in that moment and everything would have been easier. Your tears would have dried by now.

I keep my brooding for myself and I'm careful not to speak in his mind, so that he doesn't turn back to me. I neither look for him among the crowd. I don't want to draw attention to him, not more than he has already done by himself in the last months for the absurd purpose to achieve an advantageous verdict for me. I told him not to witness and not to unveil kinships that were better left hidden. I tried to persuade him that no one of the jurors would get confused by scholarly theoretical lucubration about the Dark Side, profecies and balance of the Force. But I've never figured out a way to make him obey me and my turn back to the Jedi hasn't changed a lot by this point of view. At least, he had the common sense not to involve his sister and he left her alone in her safe disguise.

I turn to her; there's publicly no relationship between us and so I don't risk to compromise her. She's staring at me and, as always, I can't read her feelings. She has never come to see me in jail – at least to tell me whether she hates me – and I haven't the slightest clue about how she really feels around me.

The Force flows as an impetuous river in Luke, resoundingly deafening. But it's peacefully stagnant in Leia, quiet and subtle as the water in quicksand – you don't notice it at the beginning, but it proves dangerous and invincible when you are already too far.

I haven't heart to probe her mind. I know all too well that her shields are impenetrable – I tested them to the extreme. Suddenly I'm reminded of a young prisoner's face twisted in pain. I feel as I get stabbed at once in middle of my chest and I close my eyes. But I still hear her painful screams, while my cold and detached voice asks again where the rebel base is.

I turn away and I open again my eyes brimming with tears. Only three days left before my daughter's torturer will be finally executed.