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THE COLD MARBLE FLOOR BITES AT ASTRID'S FEET, lightly padding across the floor to the bathroom. A comforting silence hung in the air, the background sounds of the lava waterfall churning in the background. The sound still brought a small pang of dread to her gut, a weightful pit growing as her mind reminded her of the similar sounds that surrounded her when first confronting Anakin about turning to the Dark Side. The fateful night on Mustafar seemed to never completely disappear from her consciousness.
Her eyes lingered on the orange atmosphere outside. The bubbling lava spews out remnants of itself, blowing thick clouds of dark smoke as it does. The murky dirt that lay surrounding it cemented, forming a thick ground to walk upon. Mustafar was strangely, and tragically, beautiful. Something about all its tragedies made the planet feel as if it could be a real living breathing thing—an outcasted, fallen angel.
It had a sense of timelessness. You could never tell if it were day or night, the pollution was so thick and dense that the sky was hardly visible. It was a matter of if you wanted to sleep, or you wanted to keep working. That timelessness brought a sense of serenity to the planet and its unbothered nature.
