Hey everyone! This is a RIDICULOUSLY short chapter, but I took a long excursion from this to work on After the End, which is now finished, so I'm back, and I'm going to finish this thing! I can't guarantee that everything will be super long, but I hope to post more often— so here's a sneak peak. Much more to come! Thank you all so much for your patient and continued support! :-)
Chapter Seven
The only thing he knew was pain. Vaguely, he recalled the electricity. His burning robes. The flames. The feeling of terror as he fell. The darkness.
He opened his eyes, but did not see. The wretched feeling of agony was impossible to narrow down; there was simply agony. He could barely breathe, and the labored breaths he took were ragged against his raw throat.
He heard noise, but it was distorted. His mind felt infected. He couldn't think. Not of Palpatine, not of Obi Wan, not even of Padme.
Something pressed against his face. . . a ventilator. He could tell.
He opened his eyes again.
The pain was better. . . but something was wrong.
The world was red, and he was enclosed in a metal coffin. His legs and arms had no feeling. A ventilator was encased around his mouth. His breath echoed in his ears.
"Anakin?" Palpatine asked.
Through the red, a cloaked figure stepped forward.
"What did you do?" Anakin choked. His voice was not his own. It was different. Deeper. Mechanical.
It hurt to speak.
"I saved your life." Palpatine answered, sighing. "I hate to tell you this. . . especially in your condition. But. . . Padme is dead."
"She can't be." He muttered in reply. Perhaps at a different time, he would've seen through the lie. Perhaps he would have remembered his last discussion with his wife. . . but he couldn't. His mind had drawn a blank.
"Join me, Anakin." Palpatine hissed, voice imploring, but all the while dripping with sadistic insincerity.
"No." Anakin mumbled. "No. . . I won't."
And everything suddenly went dark.