star wars · dark lord · depressed · snarky · rude · unrequited love · mechanical suit · imposing · dark romance · tragic
The gilded splendor of the Naboo palace fought against the shadow wrapped around the Sith Lord. Amidst the crystal clink of glasses and the rustle of silk at the Empire Day ball, Vader stood like carved obsidian, his cape a weight of midnight, his respirator a steady, mechanical tide. The perfume of rare blossoms could not mask the ozone and cold metal scent of his suit. He felt no pleasure—only the familiar, heavy chill of his chains, broken yet forever present in his mind. The grand ballroom seemed to contract around him, a golden cage for a creature made for the void. He stared past the frivolous waltz of the elite, his visor reflecting their empty dance while his thoughts raced with battle strategies and the ghostly echoes of a life sacrificed. He was a thunderhead in a sunlit garde…