A faded portrait, a lost memory (1st draft) - NaNoWriMo 2017

Chapter 1 - unedited

Warning: unedited . Will replace with the edited version on a later date.

The wings of an Angel

They say the road leading to the seven levels of hell is paved with good intentions.

Is it not? Wrongdoings are masked by good intentions. Good intentions have unintended consequences. Those with good intentions justify collateral damage in the belief they do a greater good.

Is Heaven empty then? Matters not. It is too late to redeem myself. The truth is it was too late for me the moment I stepped over the threshold of Watto's shop and a little boy asked me if I was an angel.

A burst of blasterfire ripped through the Coruscant air and scattered into the thick fog hovering above the Palace Precinct, as it became known to be called. Confusion lingered in the cold air and for the tiniest moment, it seemed time stood still. That was, until both servants and workers made a hast line for the protective walls of the majestic building hovering above, leaving only screams and a small group of red cloaked guards, clonetroopers and the like behind them.

The two redrobes, members of the Emperor's royal guard, flanking me drew closer, drawing their meter-long force pikes at the ready as I struggled to see the source of panic through the white murk. They remained silent and deadly still even when a Jedi wielding a green lightsaber flashed out of nowhere, followed by clones, and started cutting them down.

Hands covering mouth in shock, my eyes followed the Jedi's every move. He was fast and agile, but small in build, merely a teenage boy, and was quickly surrounded by hoards of stormtroopers all hovering above him. It was impossible to see the brown robes of the Jedi in the mass of white.

More clones, a whole platoon, came marching in perfect formation from inside the Palace toward the courtyard landing field accompanied by a tall Chagrain male. The blue-skinned humanoid flickered his forked tongue in a gesture of authority, before barking orders at the troopers accompanying him. Blasterfire erupted again, and the young Jedi was hit, and hit again, and then just shot to rags among the bodies of the troopers he'd killed before succumbing to his fate.

At that moment the only thing I was able to think about was: what a foolish way to die that was.

Horrified by what I just witnessed, I started backing away, toward the shuttle that brought me here, but was soon stopped by the two Guards flanking me, their long robes caught in the breeze forming silken blood-coloured ripples all around me. I was brought out of my shock-ridden discomposure as Mas Amedda, the presiding officer of the Senate. And the man who just moments ago nonchalantly ordered the death of a child. It was a disturbing sight that. That a single man can order the death of a living being without second tough. When did a politician receive such power?

"Senator Amidala," the Chagrian said in greeting as he approached, with a curl to his blue lips that, on a human, would have signalled disgust, but was a Chagrian smile. "My apologies for this small inconvenience. I hope you are not hurt."

"I am well, Mr. Speaker. Just a little shook. Thank you for asking." I answered faking a smile, bringing to the front more than a decade of political experience to disguise the disgust I felt at seeing the tall man. Something about the Speaker of the Senate was just revolting to say at least, but I couldn't put my hand on what exactly.

"I am relieved to hear this, Your Grace," Amedda said stepping aside and motioning for me to start walking toward the elaborate doors which lead into the temple. "Now, if you would please follow me, the Emperor is awaiting your visit."