The rest of the day is like one of those shows on the holonet where they surprise some poor unsuspecting frump with a makeover. A team of dressers and designer types all stand around and objectively debate the subject's merits and flaws as if she were not standing right there listening to every word. And the woman in question is reluctant and self-conscious and clueless about these things. She keeps fretting and politely the professionals ignore her. Everyone thinks she is being needlessly stubborn.
Well today, that woman is Shan.
After Snoke departed, Milo had knocked on the door to find her still staring blankly at the news report of her fictitious death. The old servant had handed Shan a cup of steaming hot caf and told her he had just the thing to cheer her up. That seemed impossible, but Shan went along with him anyway. Things could hardly get worse, could they?
Yes, they could.
Half an hour later, Shan is standing pinned into a blue evening gown like some improbable Jedi Cinderella. The dress has a narrow halter neckline that is cut down below her cleavage so she can't dare slouch. Her arms are exposed but thankfully her back is covered. Shan has prevailed upon the seamstress to pin closed the thigh high slit to below the knee. And she won the battle to resist narrowing the already clingy skirt. But still she is self-conscious.
No one seems to recognize her discomfort other than Milo. Because only he knows her past.
Shan has never even worn a nightgown this revealing. One sudden move and something scandalous is bound to pop out. But the team of fashion types with their Coruscanti accents and sleek all-black clothes shrug and reassure her that this dress is quite modest. Shan is not convinced.
With your figure and stature, it is best to be simple and elegant, she is told. Clean lines with a defined waist and always décolleté to bring attention upwards to your lovely face. And color. Vibrant color, my lady. Nothing fussy or elaborate. Not to worry, Madame, we will not make you into an overdressed Naboo queen.
"What do you wear under this?" Shan leans over to whisper to a female assistant. If someone produces a girdle, that's it, she is out of here.
"Nothing my lady. But if you wish, we can sew in some support."
"Yes, please," Shan says weakly. She's imaging her breasts jiggling with every step. Snoke would probably like that, she realizes ruefully.
"What is this all for, Milo?" Surely she isn't supposed to slink around the apartment in an evening gown. But Milo is busy conferring with one of the fashion types and Shan never gets a straight answer.
"Is this really necessary?" she complains. Again, she is ignored.
The longer she stands there, the more successful these people are at bullying her into submission. There are simply too many of them to contradict all at once. After an hour, Shan has had one too many datapad 'look books' thrust in her face and now they have all run together. Finally, she just turns to the lead dresser and tells him to choose.
Then an assistant approaches to hold up handbags to Shan for her opinion. "That one." Shan decides on the largest. It should fit her lightsaber, she judges with a critical eye. "Oh, yes," the lead dresser approves. "Large accessories always to match your scale, my lady. Nothing delicate. Large, simple and bold. Even for your jewels."
Her jewels?
"Do you have anything more casual?" Shan ventures timidly.
"Yes, Madame. We are getting to that."
Just then Snoke saunters in. He stands there a moment taking in the scene. Then he approaches to drawl softly for her ear alone, "I can see Milo has figured out that I'm a breast man."
Shan blinks then scowls. Now she hates this dress even more. But he just laughs under his breath.
He turns to the roomful of people. "Leave us, please. Give Madame Damask and I a moment alone."
Shan waits for everyone to retreat before advancing on Snoke. "I am not a doll for you to dress up," she objects, waving a finger under his nose. "I am not some empty-headed fashion plate."
He merely smiles. "I know that. You know that. But no one else needs to know that." He looks her up and down with appreciation. "I like this one. You are very glamorous in it."
Glamorous? Her? The compliment flusters Shan. She instantly forgets what she was about to say.
"You need to look the part of my wife," Snoke tells her easily. "And the wife of the richest man in the galaxy wears only the best. You cannot spend the rest of your days wearing my clothes, Shan."
"But—" she sputters, uncertain how to respond in the face of this logic.
"Think of it as a disguise. Your brethren will never recognize you out of your humble Jedi sackcloth. And you are much too beautiful to be garbed as a peasant."
Shan frowns. A peasant? Really, that's offensive.
"Appearances are deceiving. No one knows this better than the Sith." He slants her a sly look. "People see what they want to see. What they expect to see. So we will give them just that. You will be the fashionable young wife to a powerful, wealthy man." Snoke looks downright mischievous now. Gleeful about the hoax he is about to put over on the galaxy. "Shan, I intend to flaunt you out in the open, just like I do myself. If you force me to keep you here under lock and key, I shall. But where is the fun in that?"
He walks to the door and beckons over Milo for instructions. "Tell them to have something prepared for tomorrow. And make the other necessary arrangements. Tomorrow night, Madame Damask will accompany me to my events."
Snoke shoots a roguish smile at her. "It is time to show you off, my dear."
Shan gulps.
Hours later, the fashion entourage has left and Shan warily sits down to dinner with Snoke. Milo appears out of nowhere to drop a handful of electronic cards on the dinner table beside her. "What's this?" she asks.
"Travel documents, identification, credit card." Next, he hands Shan a datapad with an open file. "Here is the bio that the PR group put together. You should commit it to memory, my lady."
Intrigued, Shan looks closer. Then makes a face. "We met at a picnic for underprivileged children?" Who's going to believe that?
Snoke looks up from across the table. "It is true. From a certain point of view."
Hardly. "Those were Jedi padawans," Shan complains.
"Yes." He nods solemnly. "Poor little things. Stolen from their parents at a tender age for a cult."
Shan shoot him a glare and he just chuckles.
Shan keeps reading the bio. Most of the rest of it is a careful mix of half-truths and outright lies. She's an orphan who grew up on Naboo adopted by a human family. There is a list of her degrees and it's correct, which makes Shan wonder who dug that information up. "I sit on the grant review board of the Damask Family Charitable Foundation? You have a foundation?"
Snoke nods. "I do. Does it surprise you that I am a public-minded citizen? I donate significant sums to worthy causes."
Shan thinks for a moment. She's beginning to know this Sith well enough to understand that there are always layers of intent for his every action. So she addresses the elegant man sitting across from her with knowing eyes. "You mean you spread your largesse far and wide to collect favors."
"Indeed," he confirms, his dark eyes sparking at her with undisguised appreciation. "You catch on fast, sweet wife."
She ignores the endearment. "You really are a gangster Hutt at heart aren't you?"
"Yes, but I am completely respectable and a lot better looking," Snoke tells her in utter seriousness. Really, the man can be insufferably arrogant, she thinks.
"Power is all that matters, Shan. And my credits buy a lot of power through my charity. But if you prefer, you may think of it as buying a lot of good works. Feeding the hungry, clothing the poor. That sort of thing."
Shan puts the datapad with her new life story down on the table. She cocks her head and frowns at him. "So you really intend to do this? To dress me up and trot me out to stand beside you in public as your pretend wife?"
Snoke looks her in the eye. "There is nothing pretend about our marriage."
She ignores this. "Someone will recognize me." She hopes.
He dismisses this notion. "We are lightyears away from Naboo. No one has ever heard of the dead Jedi girl here and, if they have, they do not know her name or what she looks like." Snoke sits back and twirls his wineglass. "Starting tomorrow, we will begin to create a public profile for you that is believable and true to your nature. And you, Shan, will act the part."
"And if I don't?" Shan challenges.
His eyes narrow and his speech cadence slows. His flat tone will tolerate no argument. "This is an offer that you cannot refuse, remember? You will act appropriately and speak discretely. From now on, you are Madame Damask, the lovely young woman in that bio." Snoke gives her a pointed look. "And you are not now, nor have you ever been, a Jedi. That means that you will never use the Force in public. Do you understand?"
Shan stares mulishly at him in silence. Thinking of the poor dead Muun girl found on Naboo. Shan herself could be the next Muun girl found dead somewhere. But then again maybe she's already as good as dead, since Shan's whole life has been taken from her and a new one foisted upon her.
Snoke considers her for a moment. Then uses a new tactic. "You should view this as an opportunity. I have emancipated you from the Jedi. This is your chance to choose your own life."
Shan finds this reasoning to be outrageous. She leans forward to glare at him. "Do not speak to me of choices! You have forced me into a fake marriage and you are keeping me a prisoner." She fumes. The gall of this man to act like he is doing her some sort of favor.
Snoke is unimpressed by her hot words. He continues as if her outburst had never occurred. "I will not unreasonably restrict you. Once you accept your role, once you accept me, I will permit you much freedom." He holds her gaze a long moment before telling her, "I want you for yourself, Shan. For the friendly girl in the temple. Not for a prisoner."
"You're keeping me from going home," she points out the fallacy of his words.
But he disagrees. "This is your home now." Snoke takes another drink of wine and smiles indulgently at her. "Would you like that professor post? In time, you may have it."
Now, he's just being cruel, she thinks. "It was offered to a dead woman. Everything that I have accomplished, all the work that I have published, all the respect and reputation that I have, belong to a dead woman. Credentials are everything in academia. And now I have none. No reputable institution would ever hire me."
He shrugs. "Much of that can be remedied."
"How?"
He is vague. "I have my ways. And for the right contribution, a university will be surprisingly accommodating. Credits have a way of making people . . . shall we say . . . flexible? I will simply endow a position for you somewhere."
Shan resists the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, this banker thinks he can buy everything. That his credits can solve every problem. "You can't buy me a professor post. It doesn't work that way."
"Yes, Shan, it does."
His condescension grates on her and she looks away.
"Look at me," he commands and she does. "I can give you the life that the Jedi denied you. A life without their limitations and false dogma. You may have the career that they disdained. You may have the freedom to make choices. You may spend your time as you wish. I will not limit your luxuries and indulgences. I will never limit how you use the Force. All I ask in return is your loyalty and your companionship."
For the briefest of moments, Shan considers the offer. Snoke makes it sound so easy. Like he is offering her everything and asking so little in return. But Shan knows better. She won't sell her soul to this devil. "You are a killer!" she accuses.
Snoke looks almost offended by this. "I am Sith. There is a difference. We are not butchers, Shan, we are architects of the future. My violence always has a purpose."
"Yes, I saw your purpose this morning, remember? I saw this city fall and the Republic crumble. I saw the Dark Side unleashed in some—" She's searching for the right words, "-some massive contagion of death! That's your goal isn't it? To be the ultimate power in the universe, wielding the power of life and death over all of us."
He muses a moment before answering. "Yes and no," he decides. "Yes, the Republic will fall and I will be the ultimate power in the universe. But no, death is not my aim. It is merely a means to an end. For as I have told you, my violence always has a purpose." He leans forward in his chair. Snoke's dark eyes are glittering now and she can tell that he's enjoying telling her this. He's speaking in that slow, grave way of his that has the effect of making her hang on his every word. This Sith is so . . . compelling.
"No, Shan, the greatest of all powers is not to end life, but to create it. And to prolong it indefinitely. That is the power that has long been my goal."
"What?" Did he just say what she thought he said?
That slow, devious smile of his appears as he nods. "Immortality is my goal. Yes," he reacts to the frank look of shock on her face. "The Dark Side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities that some consider to be unnatural. Including immortality. It shall be the ultimate achievement in the Force: to hold all the power, and to hold it forever. I shall be as a god among men."
Her eyes are wide. Who is this man who wants the impossible? Who dares the unnatural? "You are a monster," she realizes.
"Perhaps. I do so enjoy being a Sith." He settles back in his chair. "Now, consider my words wisely, my dear. And consider all that I am offering you. If you insist on making me lock you up, I will do so. But we shall both regret it."
A discrete knock interrupts them. Milo darts into the room to whisper in Snoke's ear. Snoke nods and replies, "Indeed. Show him to my office. I will be there directly."
The Sith rises as Milo departs. Crossing the room, he steps beside Shan's chair. Gently he reaches his graceful Muun fingers to raise her chin and their eyes meet. "I will be so disappointed if you make me lock you up." Then he bends to kiss her softly on the lips. "Goodnight, Shan. I shall see you tomorrow."
Shan is glad when he's gone. She is still angry and frustrated as she crawls into bed. Perhaps that's why the dreams start. But for whatever reason, they keep coming each night as she closes her eyes.
Shan dreams of Snoke's kiss, only now it is not a goodnight kiss. Now the kiss is just the beginning. The details are rearranged each time but the outcome is the same. They end up naked in each other's arms and Shan wantonly screams out 'Lord Plagueis!' as she loses herself to pleasure.
Strangely enough, in her dreams she and Snoke are the inverse of real life. For always she, not he, dominates. Shan is the one who pulls him closer, who reaches to unclasp his robes, who boldly unbuttons and unbuckles. Shan is the aggressor leading him to bed with a firm hand, pushing him down before she straddles him, telling him in graphic detail what she wants. Sex combines with power, power combines with sex. She is in control and it's a heady stew of passions.
In life she is the sheltered Jedi girl who couldn't begin to put proper words to the acts she brazenly demands in dreams. None of this makes sense. But later that night while lost in sleep, Shan holds her lightsaber over Snoke's head until he obediently kneels to suckle between her legs. Then her naked body is draped forward over the Chancellor's podium in the Senate Arena while Snoke thrusts hard into her from behind. He may rule the galaxy now, but she rules him.
In the morning, Shan wakes drenched in sweat and arousal. She is embarrassed and bewildered.
But secretly, some small part of her wants more.