Anakin kneels before the coffin, staring into the Grand Commander's body.
Since regaining consciousness, he has neither eaten, drunk, nor slept. Grief has etched its mark upon him, casting a pallor upon his visage as though he were a ghost. His hair hangs loose and unkempt, lips cracked and dry, beard untrimmed, body gaunt, causing his cheekbones to protrude and his eyes to appear sunken and hollow.
The moment he woke, he frantically asked for the Grand Commander, wishing it were all a nightmare, a cruel illusion he could simply wake from. Despite the efforts of others to convince him to rest and let his wounds heal, he insisted on seeing the body. It must all be a terrible dream, he was certain of it. Even though the pain and bandages mummifying his body said otherwise.
As Anakin keeps vigil over the body, his mind drifts, reliving the memories he shared with the Grand Commander. He had rather his mind be stuck in the past than face what lies before him…
