The path gleams towards you, the waters between continents beckon towards the beauty of you, beyond this walking knees how much had followed... unstoppably, I need it to taste him, to increase the strength of his until I was satisfied. He felt it then, the tremor in the force or was just in me a rising climax calling, pushing my way out onto all other worlds, predestined by The Emperor.
No, it was the wonder for eternal life, the Imperial's class, domesticating the regions into ones own, loving carelessly as an assault that takes over in the strangest night when the assassin was present, positioned to finish. Accepting, how the shape of my body moved in perfectly between the curtains of that window, and there where no lamentations for why he kept them open. I guess that what others would see as sins, seem quiet logical to me, as I was there for no crime but a dictation, easing my walk through that room with another finger in the trigger, deeply tense and ready to shoot him off.
He might never imagine death could come so beautifully posed by the enemies hand, he would have think I was his angel of death, the one who will liberate him from this war and that perhaps the invitation of having another impulse to live again would be in bane.
The entreaty to take me further for this pause, breath, this where the moments when one learns to breath, when nothing else was left and yet I was the only relation to that existing moment, how unavoidable. I held my head higher, arching my back, my breast pronounced as my lowered legs opened one step forward, parting me to find the center. And again, stopped, the coordinate was always simple, you just do it. All I could recall was, for how his body rested in this quiet night. He was not really aware of my presence. Maybe he felt it partially in that part of the force who is not truly awoken. If I could remember his lips, the way they whore formed, it seemed fresh as he had never kissed before, as if my projection never tripped inside his desire, by experience he might had taste rapidly without holding much power and emotion. Again, remembered when he had his opened eyes in Tatonie and walking around his mattress, moved perturbed, his blue eyes now closed, wished to cares his face to take him until his breathing rasped. Lifted my hands, this riffle blaster was meaningless, how could I join him? Even If I shout my name to him and how meaningful it was, he would laugh at me and nothing yet he knows of the powers in the force, in the system. Studied the silhouette of his body with shameless eyes, how he covered him self from being Vader's son with docile pain. I slipped my hand downwards to perceive his skin, so many blockages, so many lies he had in between me for who ever had raise him or though him the way, looked at him contemplating his last day of innocence, rousing the beast who will shift the diversions. Shall I wake him? He is not councious, yet the blood surging through my body was not normal, the inner battle, unguarded with a sleeping demon who beneath his dreams trapped me and suddenly got distracted with his smiling curls. If I could set free from this, what will Palpatine say if he found he is not dead? The funny thing is that Palpatine is dead but he still speaks in my head "Kill him, Kill Luke Skywalker" Many days after that night, will never forget the day of that choice, how it turned me, it began then, pooling, opening questions, walking me repetitive nights through nightmares. An honest to goodness, from the blood sucking vampire of Palpatine. Slowly morphing from Darkness to an awkwardly attraction who repealed me at the same force, every night in my own twisted without moving, that perpetual unchangeable silence, finding that there was nothing I could hold on to after the Empire's fall.
"I hate you Luke, Skywalker. You finished with my Master and the Empire and everything I was." Then the voice of Palpatine tortured me again to finish him. "Kill him, Kill Luke Sky Walker." And something mere was that I could not.