As Anakin pursued Rehope through the palace, his mind was not really on the chase. He was thinking back upon a dream that he had had - a dream much more vivid than the rest. And since his dreams so often came eerily true, he had assumed at the time that the absolute clarity meant that it was to come soon. He recalled it so perfectly...
Water was everywhere, engulfing his eyes, his lips, his nostrils. He panicked and tried to escape, but could not seem to free himself of the water's terrifying clutches.
The water was red and deep, as though he were swimming in an ocean of blood. He kicked, splashing to the surface, and gulped in a gasp of heady sea air. The waves of crimson beat down upon him, battering his body, but he was able to master them and to stay afloat.
Suddenly, with no warning, a hand reached up from the depths and attached itself to his ankle. He kicked at it fiercely, but it would not disengage. It pulled him slowly, inexorably away from the surface and down, deeper and deeper. He was running out of breath.
He tumbled to the bottom of the sea and lay there for a moment, dazed, attempting to recover. He strained his eyes upward in an effort to see his assailant's face.
He choked on a mouthful of the bloody water. The face peering down at him was his own.
The man who had his face pulled him roughly to his feet and turned his head, so that he was looking out into the gloom nearby. As Anakin scrutinized the blackness, it seemed to fade so that he could see into it.
Tens of thousands of men were standing, all the same, holding guns pointed skyward. On some signal unseen by Anakin, they pivoted in unison, so that they were facing him.
They, too, wore his visage.
Anakin had screamed and choked and awoken, relieved.
When he returned his attention to the palace's stone ceiling, Rehope was no where in sight.
