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Anakin huffed a sigh and continued down the temple halls to his room. The council was asking him to spy on the Chancellor. His friend. Obi-Wan agreed with them and he didn’t want to, he couldn’t. Yoda was no help speaking in riddles or proverbs that just didn’t make sense. All too soon he was in front of the door of his room, keying in the code absente mindedly he entered. The door slipped shut and he stared at the mirror that was now in his room. It looked ancient with its gold trim and runes carved into it.
He approached with some trepidation feeling the force rippling around the mirror. There was nothing visually amiss about it other than the fact that it was not supposed to be here, in his room.
The most jarring thing was looking into the mirror and seeing himself as a nine-year-old. Like he was back on Tatooine. He looked hopeful, well the nine-year-old version of him did anyway. He looked away from the mirror feeling proud and guilty all at once. He was proud of the younger Anakin, he always did his best and helped Mom, and he was always so hopeful too. Now though he no longer felt hopeful and he didn’t think his younger self would approve. He also didn’t think his younger self would approve of the way he’s been pushing Obi-Wan away. The man had raised him, but he didn’t think Obi-Wan would care. Attachments were forbidden. The nine-year-old seemed to stare at him with something dangerously close to pity. The longer the war dragged on the less hope he felt about being there with his wife for the birth of their kids. When he first met the Jedi they were supposed to be peacekeepers, not Generals. They were supposed to help save his mom. The guilt was becoming all-consuming, changing into grief, he couldn’t save his mom in time. Nine-year-old Anakin would’ve been so devastated, Shimi should’ve been able to live, he should’ve been there for her.
Blinking back tears he looks back into the mirror.
“What happened?” there’s a curious light in little Anakin's voice.
Anakin doesn’t respond. Not that he wanted to respond but it’s also not that he doesn’t want to respond, he just can’t. So he looks away.
This time when he looks back into the mirror a different version of himself greets him, he seems to be nineteen.
This is better, he can handle nineteen. That wasn’t so long ago. The nineteen-year-old’s eyes are full of new anger that feels so old to Anakin and love. He swallows a lump in his throat. His mother is gone the hope that used to be there is gone. Had been gone since his mother died in his arms, well it wasn’t completely gone for the nineteen-year-old. He had Padmé now, his wife. The anger at the unfairness of not being able to see his mother again until she died in his arms, anger at the Jedi for not letting him see her but also the love for her, the love for his wife, and the love for Obi-Wan, his brother. However, love was not enough to starve off the anger. It crept back into his heart, making a home in his body and soul. Anger was easy it was always there. Chancellor Palpatine had always said it would be there and he struggled to see why that was such a bad thing with everything that was happening. He looked away again when the nineteen-year-old seemed to just know what he was thinking, even if the events hadn’t happened yet.
“Who are you? Do you know? Do you even want to know?” the nineteen-year-old asks eyes burning in a way no fire could.
Again, Anakin doesn’t answer and looks away. When his gaze razes back up someone he doesn’t recognize is in the mirror.
A robotic breathing fills the room.
The force crackled with anger and hate. The hate was visceral.
The force spoke in his mind. What have you become?
He blinks and yet. And yet there remains the man? Is he a man? He seems like something of nightmares. It couldn’t be him. Could it?
“What have I become?” It’s the first time he speaks and he means it to sound confident, like a question, but his voice breaks so it sounds much more like a sob.
“We are what we made ourselves.” The monster responds.
His head spins there's a prickling feeling in his spine. He knew this somehow. That this is how it was going to turn out. Anger was an old friend, no matter how much meditation he did. It stayed with him, latching onto him.
He couldn’t change destiny. The force seemed to hum in sad agreement.