To be the mistress of the most powerful man in the Galaxy hardly seemed something to be ashamed of.
Somewhere, separated from them all, he felt the Force identity of Anakin Skywalker disturbed from his eternal slumber — a purgatory of self-loathing permeated by brilliant tendrils of redemption and hope.
He strained to keep his composure but Mara could feel that he was close.
In the eye of his heart, where no tears form, he thought he could see a young and beautiful woman laying at rest with white flowers woven into the curly locks of her chocolate hair.