anakin was not born with the teeth of a star-eater, ferrous-black and always dripping blood. his halo did not used to shine so brightly that it hurt his master's eyes, his skin did not always shift and ripple like the surface of a newly-forming planet as the magma churns beneath. his eyes used to be soft and blue and human. he did not grow into his own radiance like it was an oversized sweater, nor did it grow from within him, transforming him gradually from within; his greatness was thrust upon him by a creature who whispered dark promises with the voices of a thousand evil men. he does not want it, this power, and it does not want him.
he is glad his mother has never known him like this. in the depths of his spiralling despair he finds himself almost glad she died, so that she remembers him as human and not... this. supernova child, borne of the cosmos. sky-walker. he is not the son of the stars, he is the son of shmi - wide-eyed boy, sunburnt cheeks, shock blonde hair. the galaxy will not remember him that way.
they will know him as monstrous. she knew him as kind.