Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader imagines. Featuring different original female characters and their stories in various settings of the galaxy with the Chosen One, to the Dark Lord of the Sith. From the light to the dark side each fate will be a wild rid...
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Part I
°:. *₊ ° . ☆
She loathed this planet just as deeply as her mother.
The neon lit streets pulsed with life, reverberating like a heart beat beneath the soles of her feet, following her into a dimly lit club known as, Cipher. Considered one of the "tamer" clubs in the hedonistic culture of Zeltron.
It was owned by none other than the Emperor, himself.
Forced under the unyielding hand of her mother, a native Hapan favored by the Emperor himself during a chance meeting at court, they'd left their homeplanet of Hapes. Her mother was exiled by her own sister and Queen Mother, Ta'a Chume after consorting with a Lorell pirate. Her father, her dear aunt had terminated in zealous rebellion on the Transitory Mists surrounding the nebulae of the planet—leading to her gilded cage shortly after.
Because Hapans were considered one of the more beautiful sentients, they blended well with the Zeltrons, only differentiated by the Zeltrons pink hued complexions as Hapans skin was richly pigmented by the suns rays, but just as apt to attract all walks of outlanders. With their pheromones and carnality, the planet was renowned for their pleasurable conduct and vying affections.
Recently her "mother dearest" had accepted a place in the Emperor's harem. Every few weeks she'd come back to assess the club's growth, callous as ever to of course—her dutiful daughter. Lest she end up in the same predicament as her mother threatened quite often.
Once again, she's been thrust into the role of a dancer for the night. A sick knot twisted in her gut upon realizing whom she'd been ordered to entertain.
The opulent, private room beckoned with its gossamer drapes and whimsical lighting. A deceitful simulation dressed up as a mock fantasy for their diamond clientele that shelled out exorbitant amount of credits just to keep their top tier.
However, hardly any sentient held knowledge of this highest tier and only a select few in the entire galaxy— could afford it. Unfortunately, this person was the exception as she stepped deeper into the room, the presence of a renown Sith heavily permeating the air. His menacing aura alone sent shivers down her spine, bringing forth a frigidity that seeped into the marrow of her bones.
But her spirit, just as vibrant as the locks that cascaded down her back, was akin to the emblazoned blood-red insignia of the rebellion. Adorned in scant silks draped across her taut, lean body, dyed in the crimson hues of a phoenix with accents of gold as an act of her defiance.
Within the cast of shadows, eyes like twin galaxies bore into hers before his chin slowly raised. Seated in a high-backed plush chair was the hooded Sith Lord, Darth Vader.
"Avelle," He drawled out the pronunciation, his deep voice bordering on glacial. "So this is the dancer I hear of a certain Mothers."
Avelle's emerald eyes blazed as she stared back at him, one hand braced against the silver pole on the erected holographic platform. "Well, I don't usually dance for tyrants," she spat, her voice laced with venom.
One finger tapped the bottled neck of his Corellian Whiskey, long legs anchored to the floor. Although it appeared casual with a gloved hand loosely draped across a knee, the atmosphere had thickened. His annoyance was palpable. "You will dance," he asserted with a slightly raised posture, a tempest of his strained temperament.
Avelle's confidence wavered only slightly, reinforcing her grip against the chromium pole already heating up beneath her palm. "I'm no Zeltron, my Lord. I have my will. We both know who orchestrated this and I refuse to bow to her wishes."
His gloved hand clenched into a fist before his head cocked to the side, appraising her coolly. "You have spirit," he murmured in a lower tone: a warning. "She said just as much. But it won't save you from this little act you're pulling."
Avelle could feel the tension ripple through the air, walking a tight rope that could snap just as easily. Especially with the Right Hand of the Emperor. But the spark in her spirit refused to be snuffed lest she be a pawn in this twisted game being enacted. "I won't be a pawn," she whispered almost breathless as the storm gathered in his eyes. "Not in my Mother's game and especially his."
There was a dangerous glint in his eyes as a muscle feathered in his jaw. "One kriffing dance." His eyes sparked like flint as he leaned forward, brow cocked in challenge. "Your Mother said you'd refuse. Guess you will prove her right."
The magnetism between them seemed to amplify, both locked in a battle of wills. Avelle knew that dancing for the Sith meant surrendering, yet if she allowed her emotions to take precedence, she was giving Palpatine just as much of the upper hand as Mother.
And Vader was challenging it.
A slow, steady breath was exhaled from her lips as she made her decision. Keeping her steely gaze on him she hooked a slender, heeled leg around the pole, fastening the other just above her head.
If just to spite the Sith Lord watching as a slow fire unfurled in those eyes...
