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Chapter 44
The Devil and the Widow

Everyone loves stories. We love reading them, watching them—dissecting them, among friends and academically. There are different genres, different structures. We have preferences and passions. What one reveres another hates.

Yet every story has the fingerprints of everyone who ever lived. People who say they can't see themselves are not focused on their nature, because each of our natures is an aspect of Our Nature, which we share by God's will, or that of the Force.

I submit to you that there is only one story. It encompasses all of us. The story of Our Nature is Light versus Dark.

Aayla Secura awoke naked on the floor.

After twelve hours' torture by methods of sound and light, Sidious had let her sleep. But Aayla hadn't disrobed herself. She felt bile in her throat to think that he'd done it.

The quarters were bare. All that she'd destroyed had been removed during slumber.

Aayla used a console to stand. Its broken circuits dug into her palm. She observed the machinery like a dog vaguely remembering why he's been scolded.

Was it all a dream? The most terrible dream?

Rage is satisfying. Immensely so. Mantled in equity, we deceive ourselves that it's proper. But sleep brings reason.

Aayla's rage had found shadow, replaced by shame. The Force did nothing to soothe it away. Perhaps it forsook silly women controlled by emotion. Maybe she'd promised too many times that she'd try to be better. Yoda preached that its compassion was indefatigable. But that's easy to say when you haven't fallen, as she feared she had.

She stopped and blinked. Hanging on the bathroom door was a black corset dress and mermaid skirt with metallic print. With it were long, black, fingerless gloves and a knee-length beaded necklace. Immediately she knew the ensemble was Padme's.

Pinned to the dress was a note: "From pain comes pleasure. Do join me for dinner. – Sheev"

Suddenly Aayla remembered the camera. She closed her legs, covered her breasts. Degradation colored her cheeks. It took the Force to hold back hot tears.

Aayla's jaw clamped shut. She released her anger, as much of it as she could, into the Force, but with it went her pride as she put on the dress.

She caught herself in the mirror. Aayla felt like a little girl wearing mom's clothes. Maybe she was, in a sense.

The door to her quarters opened upon approach. There was no one outside. But a force field blocked every hall except one. She followed the prescribed path, which led her to the galley.

Inside the avatar of Sidious sat at the end of a long table. A decadent meal sprawled out before him. R2-D2 pulled out a chair, beeping at Aayla. Something about his pitch didn't sit right. It was dull, lifeless.

She stared at the droid as she slowly sat down.

"You'll find he's no help," Sidious said.

"Perhaps I need none." Aayla thrust out her hand. A knife jumped from the table, flying at Sidious. Inches from his face it struck a force field and fell in front of him.

"That was very rude, Aayla. Don't the Jedi send their women to finishing school?"

His words, like the knife, struck a wall and fell prone. "Dinner with the enemy. I might expect this from Dooku. From you it's vulgar."

Sidious smiled, sipping from a chalice. "Do not mistake profanity for evil."

"You're talking about the Dark Side."

"Has the Jedi Way brought you peace? To free you from the agony, you're asked to let Miler go—but in doing so you'll make memory tasteless. You'll forget how it felt to lay in his arms."

Aayla gnawed discreetly on her cheek. "How did you end up in this body?"

"A story for another time," Sidious said. "How did he end up in yours?"

She felt copper on her tongue. Nuclear fire glowed in her eyes.

Sidious cackled, picking up a data pad. "I've been reading your psychological evaluations. I dog-eared my favorite parts. Let's see here... 'Knight Secura is dangerously attached to Master Kenobi. Her failure to place their friendship in perspective—and his encouragement of their bond—could lead her to fall if Kenobi dies.'

"Hmm. Very interesting. You also described visions of eviscerating Vader. Don't worry—I have those, too," he looked up grinning.

Tears like smoke veiled her burning gaze. She wanted to free the fire, to remove it from her person so it could swallow her whole. Because then she'd be free. Then from pain there'd be pleasure. She could build a memorial, plant beautiful flowers, and bring the evil dead as tributes to her love. And she'd start with Sidious.

No. No.

If Miler could see how far she'd fallen, he'd forsake her in eternity.

Sidious was watching her delightedly. Aayla looked off, half-repairing her mask. She met his eyes with resolve in spite of the sheen of tears. "I ought to be beneath you," she said. "The fact that you're reading those files tells me you're desperate."

"Very well, child. Amuse me with your conjecture."

"Something happened to you. You were dying," Aayla posited. "So you downloaded your memories into the first sycophant you could find... only it wasn't a Sith lord. You've lost your powers."

Sidious' smile wavered. "Have I?"

"Do you really think I'm going to let you into my mind?"

"I'm already there."

"You're very arrogant for a ghost." His hand tightened on the chalice. In Aayla's mind she'd stabbed him in the heart. "You don't think you're really Sidious, do you? The emperor is dead. You're a holo-recording masquerading as a god."

"And still you will pray to me," Sidious said.

"I will burn in Chaos before swearing you fealty."

Sidious simpered, a politician's countenance long unworn. He cut a large piece of meat, smeared it in sauce, and chewed it slowly. He dipped his head back and moaned.

He swallowed and raised his chalice. "Not fealty," he said, savoring the wine. "A god may be beseeched without belief in his divinity."

Aayla's mouth pinched in. What did this washed-up wizard think he could give her? In this body, he was nothing. He offered dark majesty he could not deliver. "There is only one thing I need," Aayla said. "No one may gave it, and so I seek nothing."

Sidious admired her waxen face. "How long have you trained with a lightsaber?"

It took her a moment to decide if she would answer. "Since I was very young."

"And if one day, you were deaf to the Force... could you still wield a sword?"

"I would still know how."

"Indeed!" Sidious cackled, tapping his temple. "Because knowledge remains. Memories are the cradle of knowledge. They exist in the mind. Without memories, without knowledge, what use are a million midichlorians?"

Aayla stiffened in her chair. "I suppose none at all."

"Ah, but the inverse is also true. Sith and Jedi spend their lives in pursuit of the perfect combination," he said idly. "Obviously I, of course, had it. And now I don't. We only learn how precious something really is once it's gone. Isn't that true?"

Suddenly she could barely breathe. A scolding-hot notion skimmed along her mind. She burned and jumped but kept on touching it. "Everything is lost, in time."

"Time is a construct. And constructs change, either by our idleness or through fresh conviction. The Jedi believe that what has been shapes what is now, and now what will be."

"And what do you believe?" she almost whispered.

"I believe that I shape everything."

Her hands trembled in her lap. She was half off her chair. "You don't shape me..."

Sidious took a long drink of wine, set down the chalice, and dabbed his mouth with a napkin.

He smiled gently, and his voice was warm. "That dress looks lovely on you."