In the darkness of his chamber, Vader immerses himself in the darkness that is the Sith's trade; silk-threads of blackness, heady, swarm him, and with great difficulty, he breathes without the cursed respirator he has kept as a constant companion for the past two decades.
His breathing is sore, painful; muscles he relied upon without thinking no longer move without a great amount of careful manipulation through the force.
His eyes - as bad as they are - fall upon the holo of the boy that he keeps on his desk; the quality is fuzzy, bad -- but he feels such a bright warmth in his chest at seeing that tow-headed child that it drives out the darkness, so thoroughly he winds up gasping for air.
no subject
His breathing is sore, painful; muscles he relied upon without thinking no longer move without a great amount of careful manipulation through the force.
His eyes - as bad as they are - fall upon the holo of the boy that he keeps on his desk; the quality is fuzzy, bad -- but he feels such a bright warmth in his chest at seeing that tow-headed child that it drives out the darkness, so thoroughly he winds up gasping for air.