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ASTRID REALLY NEEDED TO GET MEDICATED FOR THE AMOUNTS OF NIGHTMARES SHE WAS GETTING. It had been a peaceful day since her last and clearly, her brain hadn't decided that she had enough. In all honesty, the dream before wasn't even that scary, it was just weird. Now it was only a matter of time until she found out what this one was like.
So here she sat, in a cell. It had been hours since she had entered this dream and nothing had happened. All she had done was sit in a cell.
Astrid's head throbs, head spinning drowsily. Her head is too heavy for her neck to support, it lulls back hitting a cool metal wall. A hiss falls from her lips at the impact. What the hell was going on?
All of her senses were foggy. She was too tired to move her body, and she was beginning to realize even if she did, she wouldn't be able to because of the rope tied at her wrists and ankles. The girl felt dirty, her skin was slick with sweat from the hot cell and no doubt oily.
Her body ached as if it was a day after an intense workout. Astrid slouched in the hard metal chair despite it not being comfortable. Her legs began to spread and she could practically hear her mother scolding her for sitting so 'unladylike', but she simply didn't care, it wasn't like she was wearing a dress.
A burning pain seared at her abdomen, right over her abs. It had been dull for the time she had regained consciousness in her dream but now it was getting worse. Managing to lift her head, she looks at her abdomen, groaning when she sees a burning slash across her stomach. It had ripped through her black suit and her skin. It was no doubt a lightsaber.
"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.
The view of the Sith Lord was obscured by the people in front of Astrid. All she saw was the woman's red and wheezing face and the back of Tarkin.
It surprised Astrid that she didn't feel the urge to help the woman–if anything it made her happy that the woman was going to die after she had hurt her.
Soon the woman was dropped to the ground, gasping wildly to regain air in her lungs. She spins around to sit on the ground, facing the Sith and scoots back towards Astrid's seat. The Pagonia had no care for anyone but Vader at this moment.
Her eyes were glued to his mask. From the shiny reflection of his mask, she could make out herself. She looked good all beaten up. It was sexy. Her mother always scolded her about how cocky Astrid was with her looks and how self-obsessed she could become on certain days, but she couldn't help it.
God, she was so out of it right now.
The Third Sister's voice pulls Astrid out of her mini self-admiring session, "why didn't you kill me?"
The Sith Lord tilts his head. The lack of emotion on the mask was truly terrifying because you could never tell his next move. "That would be an easy way out. I'm going to make you suffer," and with that, two other people dressed in black drag the woman away.
"Leave us," Lord Vader says to Tarkin, his mask looking straight at Astrid. The general does, leaving the two alone, locked in a small cell.
The tension was suffocating, it engulfed and taunted them. They make no move to resolve the tension–the reason why? Lord Vader knew if he was to touch her in any way, he'd hide her from everyone because she was only his, while Astrid was quite literally tied to a chair and in pain.
"Not to break the silence," Astrid began, tugging on the rough rope wrapped tightly around her wrist, "could you, like, undo these or something?"
The Sith moves forwards, towering over the chair Astrid was seated on. He leans down, gently placing one of his hands on her shoulder and the other cupping her face, yet he had not made any move to untie the ropes. The feeling of the stiff leather against her face was soothing, it reminded her so much of her lover.
"Anakin, please," her voice was soft, all traces of humor from before gone. Her eyes pleading for him to undo the restraints, she was tired of this stupid cell.
The man tenses at the use of his name. He hadn't been called that in ages. His fingers brush through her hair. "Wake up, baby," was all he muttered, but it did the trick.
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𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐤𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦
𝐢 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐥
𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝!
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