Disclaimer: Star Wars, unfortunately, does not belong to me.
Flesh burning. Tissue, flaring white-orange-hot and crumbling to blackness. Roaring microcosms of inferno in every shriveling cell. Everywhere, unbearable heat.
But inside, he is cold.
For I am with him.
Nerves exploding with signals of agony before collapsing in on themselves. Brain exploding with the cacophony of physical pain. He should be screaming, raw-throated, over and over again…
But I came to him instead.
Knowing. Knowing he is dying. Seeing with the terrible clarity
That I give to all at last
the endless darkness that beckons, that calls his spirit into the forever nothing of the damned.
But I would not let him go to that place he is fated to roam. Not yet.
Wondering, in his clarity, why it is so cold.
He never knew—will never know, until it is too late. That is how it is with these children of destiny. They see the farthest; they sweep me back with a power alien to mortals. And yet in their far-sweeping scope they are blind to that most tender weakness of the mortal—their heart. It is there that I strike. That I freeze.
Despairing. Padme…Obi-Wan, the names bobbing like wreckage in a fiery sea. He wants to crush them, to sink them, anything to stop the pain they fling out to spiral above the waves, drifting, mocking trails of betrayed love.
Betrayal. Love. My faithful demons of darkness and light.
Mangled. Writhing in his own ashes.
Eyes glowing like the lava, turning him from pitiable to the stuff
nightmares are made of. A monster.
He is beautiful. He is mine.
No longer Anakin Skywalker.
Because I took him when he gave himself to me, took him and his precious soul and made him into a new image. My own.
Aware, for a
faint, barely existent moment that the Force has deserted him. Aware
that even so…he is not alone. Wondering, for a flickering second,
who is there.
It was I. I, the Mistress he swore fealty to. I, the only true goddess, feared by all and worshipped by none. I, who knows all, because I take all. I, in all, because all candles cast a shadow. I, the all powerful, because I conquer all in the end.
I, who will never die, because I am Death.
All coherent thought finally dissolving into a maelstrom of dark passion.
I hovered over him for a moment of guilty pleasure, savoring the salty misery and rich, velvety rage. Oh, this one was ripe. But I did not linger long. With one last gleeful, venomous hiss at the remnants of Anakin Skywalker, I slid into and deep beneath the flames.
Darkness wrapping soft, chilling arms around his soul, kissing him with lips so cold they numb his crisping skin and mist the air with steam.
When I was finished, there was a lump of ice in a body consumed by fire. Satisfied with my handiwork, I drew away as his consciousness faded. It takes great skill to destroy spirit and body at once, and great artistry to freeze the one to death while the other burns.
He will not die here, not
at this moment. His burning flesh will harden into something
grotesquely twisted but yet alive. His boiling blood will cool. The
fire will fade.
But the cold…that is here to stay.
And when I come to him again…
He will go. Even if his heart has thawed.
Because there is no resurrection for the damned.
Not damned. Destined. Chosen…Struggling, fighting through the falling stupor. Not damned. Stilling as she brushes one last feather-soft kiss across his ravaged mind.
Damned, dear Anakin. Damned from the moment of your conception.
The last word is always hers.
Funny thing is, I've never actually watched this part of the movie. I always cover my eyes because I can't take it!