Revenge of the Sith

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Revenge of the Sith Page 37

by Matthew Stover


  It is in this blazing moment that you finally understand the trap of the dark side, the final cruelty of the Sith—because now yourself is all you will ever have.

  And you rage and scream and reach through the Force to crush the shadow who has destroyed you, but you are so far less now than what you were, you are more than half machine, you are like a painter gone blind, a composer gone deaf, you can remember where the power was but the power you can touch is only a memory, and so with all your world-destroying fury it is only droids around you that implode, and equipment, and the table on which you were strapped shatters, and in the end, you cannot touch the shadow.

  In the end, you do not even want to.

  In the end, the shadow is all you have left. Because the shadow understands you, the shadow forgives you, the shadow gathers you unto itself—and within your furnace heart, you burn in your own flame. This is how it feels to be Anakin Skywalker… Forever…

  The long night has begun.

  Huge solemn crowds line Palace Plaza in Theed, the capital of Naboo, as six beautiful white gualaars draw a flower-draped open casket bearing the remains of a beloved Senator through the Triumphal Arch, her fingers finally and forever clasping a snippet of japor, one that had been carved long ago by the hand of a nine-year-old boy from an obscure desert planet in the far Outer Rim...

  On the jungle planet of Dagobah, a Jedi Master inspects the unfamiliar swamp of his exile...

  From the bridge of a Star Destroyer, two Sith Lords stand with a sector governor named Tarkin, and survey the growing skeleton of a spherical battle station the size of a moon...

  But even in the deepest night, there are some who dream of dawn.

  On Alderaan, the Prince Consort delivers a baby girl into the loving arms of his Queen.

  And on Tatooine, a Jedi Master brings an infant boy to the homestead of Owen and Beru Lars—

  Then he rides his eopie off into the Jundland Wastes, toward the setting suns.

  The dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins—but in the heart of its strength lies weakness: one lone candle is enough to hold it back.

  Love is more than a candle. Love can ignite the stars.

 

 

 


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