*Trigger warning, this chapter contains content that can be considered disturbing, relating to suicide, suicidal thoughts and ideation. If you are feeling suicidal, please reach out and seek professional help. If you feel you are in danger of harming yourself, call 911, 999, or your local emergency number*
USA NATIONAL SUICIDE HOTLINE- 1-800-273-8255

UK SAMARITANS 116-123

It was a slow march from the Imperial throne room to the transport that awaited her on the platform outside. Slow, but entirely too fast. Just like the events that had uprooted her entire life ever since that wonderful night that would mark the end of her normal life. The night that had seemed too good to be true. Where she had laughed and drank with a seemingly kind stranger, the one that would rip her from everything she had ever known. The one who would pull her to the depths of despair where she would lose everything.

Everyone.

In a haze made up of exhaustion and disbelief, Deidra sat in the transport and watched as the towers and spires began to move past with increasing speed. Coruscant. The urban sprawl of a city world that seemed wonderful, beautiful even, as they had approached it. Now she only saw a prison comprised of duracrete and neon lights.

A prison she was destined for from birth it would seem. But it was an empty existence. She didn't care about any of it. No amount of status or wealth would bring back her grandmother, or the beloved family she had lost in that awful bombing. Even if it was the rebels who had been responsible, giving her life over to the Empire wasn't going to bring them back. When she had gone in to meet the Emperor, she had thought herself ready to give anything to fight against the rebels. Only she hadn't thought her own life the price.

She never dreamed her life could be measured to be sold or traded, or given in sacrifice. Her life was hers alone. It wasn't to be bartered with or usurped. But her life wasn't hers any more. And even if it was, what good was it? She had nothing left to give, nothing left to care about.

Her mind played the last few days like a holotape, over and over. If only she could go back and do something differently. Would it have even changed a thing? The makeup of her cells would have remained the same, within them being the writ of her betrothal to the Prince of the Empire, Darth Vader.

All of those nights she had dreamed of something greater, of tall city spires and magnificent ball gowns. Of entertaining company and lavish dinners, along with all the success she could find for herself. Now it all felt like a curse. She would trade it all for just one more minute with her grandmother.

But time was not something that could be bargained with or persuaded, no matter how much one wished it were so. And time kept on moving forwards, as did the subject of her fear and dread. The iminent meeting with the ever feared Darth Vader.

Her purpose to him made her skin crawl with disgust. What sort of man would he be to have her plucked from her own home in the way that she was? Certainly a heartless and ruthless one at that. And the one she was to mother children for. Her mind didn't comprehend the reality of it.

But time kept pushing forwards, through the difficult and easier times alike. Just like now, as Faro pulled and prodded her to stand and walk out of the transport, into a private clinic. Her mind was willfully empty as she was guided to sit on an examination table to be studied and scanned. All of the proceedings felt as if they were very far away. There was a veil between herself and the world, and she very much preferred it that way.

"Well she's certainly healthy, although it would seem our lady has endured quite the ordeal over the last few days." The doctor concluded, speaking mostly to Faro since she had proven quite unresponsive. Though the matter of her fugue like state was not a topic of conversation. "It's safe to say the only damage is superficial. Scrapes and bruises, maybe a little dehydration but no internal injuries."

"Perhaps there's something that could be given to help her mental state?" Faro suggested, her words treading lightly as to not to anger the subject of question. The doctor looked back to Deidra who blinked slowly and without interest back at him. "Clearly she's suffering greatly from the stresses of her situation." Faro added insistently.

Deidra smiled slightly. It was an odd prospect that anything could truly help her state of mind. Her world had been turned upside down and crushed all within the same week. It was impossible to cure any of it with some sort of pill or drug. And Faro thought she might be helped. The woman meant well but was clearly delusional, more so than Deidra would ever be.

"I suppose I could give her something for the emotional discomfort. Can't say how much it will truly help, though." The doctor said with a measure of skepticism and doubt.

The man turned to rummage through a cabinet of vials and syringes before he came upon the one he was looking for. "This will help for the next few hours, after that it can be administered orally, up to twice a day as needed. Though it should be used sparingly." The man said with caution as he drew up a viscous looking liquid into a syringe.

The liquid burned terribly as he jabbed the needle into her arm, pushing it far too quickly into her tissue for comfort. Deidra inhaled sharply at the stimulus as the pain of it slowly waned.

The doctor and Faro said a few parting words before she was being pulled yet again in the direction of their transport. She could feel the effects of the drug already taking hold over her senses. There was a chemical haze that settled in between her and everything else, taking place of the veil she had held there for comfort. Only the haze made everything feel okay, even if she knew it wasn't.

This time she gazed out the viewport as they took flight with a sense of manufactured acceptance. It was bitter and full of agony, mixed with a warmth that flooded her body with reassurance. It was a clashing of heartache and serenity that put her in an odd state of mind. She imagined herself holding a knife to her wrists with an empty smile on her lips, slicing through her delicate flesh, letting this terrible nightmare be over for good.

Suddenly it felt like a wonderful idea. She might hear the sound of her father's voice again, feel her mother's embrace. The struggle could be over.

"Feeling better already?" Faro asked, pleased to see Deidara smiling.

"I guess you could say that." Deidra answered back as a tall spire began to grow larger, more massive as they came towards it. As much as the drugs had endowed her with a false sense of peace, she could feel waves of agony emanate from the structure in the distance. She almost thought she could hear words, a cry for help, before it was silenced by an enveloping darkness. A black hole that swallowed all, sparing nothing.

It was an ominous, terrible place. Even through the sweet haze she could feel the fear it instilled. As they landed and walked towards the dark lair, Deidra examined the carved markings in the stone walls. Both on the exterior and the passage leading inside were what looked like ancient glyphs. As she studied them, it almost seemed that they glowed ever so faintly.

But it could have easily been the drugs manifesting as well. That made the most sense to her in the moment. As Faro led her to the main hall, two servants approached. They were wearing modest black gowns and cloaks. Their hair was tied back strictly and their gaze was cast low.

"This is Lady Deidra. I trust you'll take it from here," Faro said expectantly.

The two women bowed deeply as they made acquaintance. "Lady Deidra," one of the stewardesses said in awe.

"It's an honor to have you, my Lady." The other echoed in a breathless tone.

Deidra turned towards Faro with a desperate question in her eyes muted by the drugs that settled in over her. "You're leaving," she said with a panic gripping her core, as much as it could through the inebriation.

"Yes my dear, i'm sorry. I have orders elsewhere, now. But you will be taken well care of, you have my word." Faro said sadly with a reverent tone as she gave a token salute.

Somehow it only made her feel worse, even more lost. "Oh," Deidra said quietly, not wanting to appear childish. She couldn't give in to the swell of tears that choked her, she forced them into submission. "Goodbye, then." She said, unsure.

Faro gave a curt bow before turning to leave. Somehow the end of a chapter premised in the woman's exit. The last shred of any sense of familiarity was leaving her alone in a sea of what remained largely unknown, and frustratingly frightening. She hated feeling so lost and vulnerable.

Deidra had always lived knowing her place, where she stood in relation to others. She knew her grandmother and the patrons that depended on her to provide certain measures of relief and comfort in the form of herbal concoctions; a poultice or tea. Everything about that life seemed distant and foreign now, yet so painfully near.

"If you'll follow us my Lady, we'll prepare you for the Master." One woman said in that same empty tone that seemed to be the only one they knew to employ.

Somehow that vacant tone made their words that much more ominous. The Master.

Deidra would have no Master, no one to Lord over her. She would have never stood for it before. Her grandmother would turn over in her grave if she knew the subservience that she was supposed to be consigned to. Just the thought of it made her blood boil, and freeze over all at the same time. She was furious yet terrified.

Terrified of the unknown. And so much remained so. As the two women guided her up the spiral staircase that seemed to ascend and descend in both directions infinitely, they finally came to a wing that seemed to be fashioned into a large living quarters.

"Here's where you'll be staying," one of the servants said in monotone.

The floor before them was swept out in one large grand hall, a few doors at the edges that led off into separate rooms. It was a large suite, something quite royal and stark in trimmings and decor. It unfurled in red velvet lounge chaises with simple and angular tables and chairs, with equally modern lighting fixtures that were dotted throughout the place. The ceilings were impossibly tall, leaving a sense of emptiness that would never feel quite right.

The elaborate yet stern furnishings, pillars and marble floors became overwhelming. Deidra felt she had stepped into a palace. And essentially, she had. All of it had her feeling even more fatigued and she thought herself ready for a long nap. Though without so much as a pause, the maidens continued to herd her over towards the doors at the far end of the grand hall.

"Which room is mine?" She asked through her drug tinged haze. Perhaps that was what had her feeling so exhausted.

"Everything you see is yours, my Lady." One stewardess replied, her tone showing surprise at the question. "The Master had this floor prepared in expectancy of your arrival."

"Oh," Deidra replied, equally caught off guard. She hadn't quite expected so much. Though for someone in such service to the Empire, perhaps she should have expected more. Though for all that had been taken from her, no amount of luxury could replace what her heart yearned for.

All the same, such a dwelling didn't make her any less of a slave to the Empire. It hardly made up for what they still wanted to take from her; what they already had taken.

The two women reached the end of the large hall, opening one of the tall doors that led into what seemed like a spa room. At the center was a large soaking tub, around it were shelves and vanities all clean and polished. Deidra looked back at herself in the many reflections of her face that stared back at her from the numerous mirrors.

Inside herself she wanted to scream, and she did feel the air around her hum with distress that cried out from the depths of her soul. In response she thought she might have felt the reassurance of a kindred spirit, the presence of a comfort. But it was just as fleeting as it was unexpected.

Just beyond, deeper into the space were racks of clothes and accessories, hats, gloves, jewls and fine garments adorned with exotic embroidery and fashions that she had only ever seen on the holonet, if at all. Clustered between the racks were plush upholstered sofas and chairs to lounge on. All of it was foreign, mementos of a life she had never lived.

One of the women moved to the soaking tub at the center of the room, turning it on and preparing a bath. The other motioned for Deidra to sit on a bench in front of one of the vanities while she rummaged for products.

The next hour went by while the two stewardesses fussed and picked over every aspect of Deidra's appearance and hygiene. She had been cleaned and groomed entirely in ways she hadn't been completely comfortable in others doing for her. Her gown had been chosen against her many adamant protests. It along with most other clothes in her bestowed collection, was entirely too revealing for her liking and comprised of colors that were darker than she usually wore. The layers of black and dark crimson drowned her out, her flesh and hair stark against the backdrop of the inky colors.

The two women chattered and whispered between themselves anxiously hushed comments and remarks. Their mannerisms spoke tales of fear and caution, things to be avoided. As they ushered Deidra out into the parlor area of the floor that had been designated for her alone, they took a tense tone. It wasn't something they said, it was more a matter of things they hadn't said. It was in the way even their quiet gossiping had stilled to a halt as their tasks with her had come to an end.

"Make yourself at home and relax, mylady." One of the women said in an uncomfortable nearly forced voice.

"The Master will be up to meet you shortly."

….

Coming home to the tower wasn't like coming home at all. In all honesty Vader hated the gift that had been bestowed to him by his Master. He hated any place of stillness, anything that would make him stay and wait.

He stored many artifacts that he had collected over the years in his tower, had designed bits here and there to make it more his own. And even still, he never felt at home within the dark shadowed walls. It didn't matter how many spoils of conquest and war he would stash among his many vacant floors of soldiers, servants and maids who milled about, keeping the place clean and up to standard in the chance he might grace the halls with his presence.

He hated it with a passion, every reminder of past times, every slice of history better left forgotten. Every piece of it was fuel, something to be taken and transmuted into strength; power. His former Master only being one of many things he kept as memento. As something to hold over the weaker Anakin Skywalker who would cry and beg at times, for mercy to be shown.

Darth Vader didn't know mercy. He didn't know restraint, or kindness, or love. The man was barely a man at all, more a beast. A otherworldly demon that took what it wanted when it willed it. A force beyond comprehension. A singularity in the universe; convergence of the living force. An all consuming darkness, a never ending nightmare.

As Vader's shuttle came closer to the landing pad of his tower, he could feel the familiar signatures greet him as they always did when he came home. The restless anxiety of his orderlies was rife in the air, more pungent than the usual background hum of fear he was used to feeling here.

The Emperor had given commands, his servants would know the grave importance of the woman they had in their care. The pressure to give service without fault would be at an all time high. Vader appreciated the fear his underlings felt; he ought to be feared. It showed that they knew their place, and knew what might be the result of disobeying or displeasing their Master.

Vader's fists clenched at his sides as his jaw tensed. It wouldn't be long until he no longer had a Master. Not long before Sidious's reign would be at an end. It felt right that those who called Vader Master, would feel terror. For all the things that the Sith Lord detested, it was the fear of his own Master. Was it fear, or was it anger? Perhaps a mixture of both. He hated how the man thought he held Vader's life, his destiny in his old, wretched hands.

But for now, he would let his Master think it so. He would obey, bend to his wishes. Vader wasn't below seeing the benefit of learning what he could from the man. Sidious possessed much wisdom that he still had yet to glean. Vader would use him until he no longer served a purpose. He would bow to him until he killed him. He would fear him until he no longer drew breath.

He would use the hatred of his own fear as another springboard, taking him to new levels of power. None would be wasted.

Vader's shuttle had landed. His boots met the duracrete bricks below in quick and decisive strides. He could feel the misery of the one he once called Master, toiling away in the depths below. He could sense a new signature, one quite bright and pervasive. There was a quality of pain, suffering, shades of hate and despair. Had he not been paying better attention, he might have misplaced it under the name Kenobi.

But this was different, less sullied. The pain was fresh, new. A bleeding heart, sudden trauma. Confusion. Vader drew on the sensation, enticed by it. Anakin yearned to reach out, to help, to heal. The weakling Jedi always did have a tender heart for others in pain. This soul had a sense of bondage, a different kind of slavery. It made Anakin writhe and rip at the binds that held his soul in place, deep in the dark black pit of the abyss that made up a Sith Lord.

But the melody of suffering was a sweet hymn to Vader. It filled the chasm where his heart might have been with a sense of contentment. Even Anakin felt a fellowship in the shared sense of pain, the sense of loss. It was one note that aligned Anakin with his dark captor, Darth Vader. Though while the Dark One felt gratified, Anakin mourned. Both emotions were felt within the grips of insipid silence, a meditative like state.

But Vader presse onwards, trailing up the spiral staircase towards the beacon of melancholy that would be his betrothed. As he climbed he felt a shift in her emotions, a changing from heartache to resolve. A sense of emptiness, defeat, resignation crept over the signature. It dampened, warped and distorted it. The sheer intensity of her pain swept over the entire tower, pushing onto everyone close enough to be affected. Like the corona of a star on the edge of supernova her aura lingered on the edge of collapse.

Vader quickened his pace as he climbed the stairs, skipping many steps in between strides as he projected himself forward with the slightest touch of force. An urgency filled the air, a lively energy thrumming in the space between his ribs. The air was charged with static, such as it was before someone's light would be extinguished.

Darth Vader wasn't concerned, not in the slightest. The Sith Lord never felt such emotions. So he didn't know what it was that tickled in his chest, that made his heart beat ever so slightly faster. But if he did have such capacities to feel on behalf of another, he might have felt a sense of panic. The emerging sense of alarm might have compelled him to break out into a sprint, rushing to the floor where the one meant for him would be in wait.

He might have felt something as he saw an empty bottle of pills cast to the ground, near the feet of a woman who stood on the precipice of her veranda. A glass emptied of the liquor that it had held only a few moments ago loosely held in her hand. How long ago? He couldn't guess. Long enough for the effects to be kicking in.

The woman's slight form, clad in scant luxurious garments, sagged against the pillar of the balcony as her feet stood planted, toes gripping the ledge. The slightest breeze might have pulled her down, hurtling with fatal speed to the lowest levels of the city planet. She wavered, fighting the heavy tranquilizers she had ingested coupled with the strong drink.

The moment seemed to unravel in slow motion as Vader had crested the staircase, running with full might as he saw the scene unfold before him. The woman turned to look at him as he came closer. Her face was pale, painted perfectly with full red lips and dark swooping liner over her eyes accentuating the delicate shape they took on her face. Her lashes clumped with stinging tears as they mixed with the black ink of her mascara forming small rivers of washed out gray cascading down her cheeks.

She was beautiful, painted like a doll. But it was as if someone painted her wrong; sad. If only someone could wipe the tear stained makeup from her face, and paint a smile with happier eyes instead.

But she wasn't happy. As her eyes fell on Vader's approaching form a pang of anguish sparked in her eyes. Her chest was tight, holding onto a gasping breath as she teetered on the edge of holding on and letting go before the drugs that quickly dissolved into her veins decided for her.

He had nearly reached her before she closed her eyes, a delicate expression of peace and acceptance forming on her features. She let go, her toes unclenching from their grip on the stone ledge as she shoved off of the pillar, pushing herself into the open air like a bird about to take flight. Her gown caught the breeze around her, billowing and taking to the wind like a banner declaring its message to the skies.

Vader reached out his hand, taking hold of her gently with tendrils of force as he pulled her back into the safety of the tower. His heart drummed in his chest as he set her down with care. As her feet touched the ground and he released his hold on her, she promptly collapsed on the stone floor below.

Kneeling by her side Vader turned her over, seeing the woman quickly grow despondent. Her porcelain skin began to turn shades of pale blue as the drugs began to take hold. He took her up in his arms and carried her with haste down to the med wing of the tower. Vader had always been sure to keep qualified, competent doctors on staff. Now was the time their mettle would be tested.

But already there had clearly been a failure. A critical lapse of judgement. As the life force of the woman he held in his arms continued to steadily decline, his pace hastened in equal measure. As the woman in his arms began to die, Vader's accelerated pulse became fueled with rage.

He entered the med wing with a swath of staff immediately rushing to his aid. None of it was enough to cover their gross oversight. Vader steadily marched to a med sleeper, laying his betrothed down delicately on it's white sheeted surface.

His aura was seething, his chest flaming with anger for such flippant negligence. The staff of doctors and nurses continued to follow him, ready at any moment to give aid as suggested. Already one nurse began to shakily take the dying woman's vitals, immediately barking orders to another one of the staff for a med hypo to help stabilize her. Two of the head doctors stood before Vader, one male and female.

They had first started by trying to inquire and ask about the woman's condition and soon realized Vader was in no talking mood at all. Instead he stared them down with a deathly glare. One of the two began grasping at his throat, unable to draw breath. All transpired in silence as the rest of the staff began converging over the woman's body in borderline panic, trying desperately to save the young woman's life.

As the doctor in Vader's invisible grip began to tremor and convulse with lack of oxygen, the entire staff knew the woman's survival or death meant the same for all of them, as well. Such was the understanding of those working under Darth Vader. Positions in his command were always available for a reason. The mortality rates of those who served him were high. The cost of their deaths? Incompetency. Or perhaps Lord Vader was having an off day.

Today there were to be many fatalities, whether or not the woman survived. The doctor who now fell to the floor, his skin discolored from asphyxiation, was only the first. "If the girl dies, the rest of you do as well." Vader declared to the room of med staff, staring into the surviving doctors eyes.

Then he stepped closer, mere inches away from the female doctor's face. He could smell her fear, feel the accentuated terror he was pushing onto her. "Don't make me regret killing him instead of you." Vader said calmly with undercurrents of icy regard.

"Y-yes Lord Vader. We will not fail you." The doctor said with loyalty, giving a salute before she rushed off to advise the rest of the staff.

"When she wakes, notify me immediately." Vader said, before turning on his heel to leave. He had business to attend to.

"Yes my Lord. It will be done."