𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄

    "Fuck," she groans, muscles tensing as her eyes stay glued to her wound. It wasn't deep, but it would surely leave a scar if it didn't get treated properly–and something told her it wasn't going to be.

    The solid metal doors of the cell open, revealing the same black hallway that she'd seen in her very early dreams. Soon a man stepped into view–he looked sickly. His cheekbone protruded from his face and his skin sunk into every crevice of his skull. His hairline was awful, and his gray hair was slicked back.

    "You're awake, Mrs. Skywalker," the man grins sadistically. He was mocking her. Astrid's jaw clenched and despite the ache in her body, she hid any signs of pain–she'd rather die than show this old man her weaknesses. "I would say Lord Vader will be pleased but seeing your condition..." he trails off, eyes landing on her wound, "I think he'll be rather angry."

    The small twitch in the man's lips gave away his fear. Astrid smirks, realizing why he was scared. Assuming that Lord Vader was the man from her other dreams, he'd surely be mad that she was hurt, not mad at her. Forcing herself to sit up straighter, she lets out a small groan of pain but quickly regains her faux painless expression. "At me or you?"

    His face drops for a split second before he masks it, but Astrid sees it. It gave her a little too much confidence. Before either of them could say anything, a woman dressed in an all-black suit enters the room. It was very similar to the other Sith Lord of her dreams, but she was much less intimidating.

    The woman looks at Astrid in pure disgust, making the Pagonia grin, "rebel scum."

    Astrid couldn't fight the small chuckle erupting from her throat. She did, however, fight the ache and wince that came with it. Her amused eyes land on the woman, "really? That's the best you've got. I've been called much worse before."

    This seems to piss the woman off as she goes to stride over to Astrid, but is cut off by the man next to her. He had to be some sort of general, clearly not a good or sane one. The man crosses his arms behind his back, "don't, Third Sister, you've already done enough to sign your death warrant."

    "I did what he asked me to do, Grand Moff Tarkin," the woman scoffs, crossing her arms. The movement revealed the shiny black hilt of a lightsaber. It was definitely her that had hit Astrid.

    Tarkin shakes his head, "he asked that she be brought in unharmed. Tell me, Third Sister, does she look unharmed?"

    Astrid watches the woman turn to her, examining her body. Despite her everlasting ache everywhere, she felt victorious. Clearly one of the two people in front of her was going to die, she was thinking it was the woman but only time would tell.

    Visibly startled, the woman cleared her throat and faced the man, "I came to inform you that Lord Vader has arrived."

    "This is going to be quite entertaining," Astrid grins, slouching back into her chair. Her body hurt too much to stay in good posture. If Lord Vader was who she thought she was, then he'd surely be able to feel the pain she was in.

    Before either of them could snap at her, the woman began to sputter, clawing at her throat. She struggles for air, attempting to gasp but only mere wheezes come as a result. Astrid's eyes widen, eyes frantically traveling to Tarkin who watches as if it was nothing.

    This whole thing became a lot more real.

    "My orders were to bring her in unharmed," a familiar mechanical voice echoes in the cell. For some reason, Astrid felt safe–and that scared her. The lightsaber on the woman's waist flew out of her belt and towards the doorway of the cell.