Disclaimer: Star Wars is the intellectual property of George Lucas.

The Chosen One. The Hero With No Fear. Anakin Skywalker. Darth Vader.

A shadow of all four stands on the balcony at the power station of Mustafar, his eyes yellow and mind aching as he stares out at the lava below, and the Sith does not know which name he hates the most.

Each carry such failures behind them.

The Chosen One. The Sith remembers feeling joy at hearing himself being called such, a long time ago in what felt like another life. A pride at being considered different, special. He had stood above the rest in everything, always stronger, always faster, always more powerful, and that name had been his reward, and he had revelled in the praise.

He remembers that a youngling he had left dead on the Council floor had called him by that name once, and he can find no joy in it any more.

He hates the poison of resentment the pressure that the name had put him under had instilled in his veins. He hates the envious glances he received from the other children when he had been spoken of in whispers because of it. He hates that the name had proven nothing, done nothing, and that The Chosen One had not been gifted with the power to stop death, the only thing that really matters in the end.

He hates that the Chosen One had been forced to watch his mother die and had been unable to stop it.

The Sith despises the name The Hero With No Fear too, however.

The Hero With No Fear had been anything but, the title of a man who had been terrified every time his droid had been scraped in a space battle, a man who tried to save everyone and failed all too often, a man who woke up in the night in cold sweats, visions of the one he loved being ripped away from him fresh in his mind.

He remembers feeling shame that he had not been who they wished he was, had not lived up to that name. He had tried to be what that title had said he was meant to be every day, and do as a proper Jedi should. But the fear had always been there, whispering dark thoughts in the back of his mind, no matter how hard he tried to silence it.

The Sith hates the memories of trying so hard only to fail, time and time again.

That name had been nothing but a lie.

But Anakin Skywalker had been worse than a lie, the Sith believes. It had not been a title conferred to him, had not been something he had longed for and gained, nor any form of recognition.

It had been his true self, and all the pain and fury and weakness that represented.

Anakin Skywalker had been the name of a slave child who had abandoned his mother, the Jedi who had been unable to save so many, and the man who's mind had been so clouded by fear that his entire life had been one long attempt to flee from a darkness that had, deep down, always owned him completely.

"All things die. Even stars burn out."

Anakin Skywalker's existance had been defined by those words and his inability to deny them.

But the words "I love you, Annie" had come out of her beautiful lips.

The Sith cannot bring himself to hate something that she had spoken of in love. Not yet.

The last name will never hear those words from her, however.

Darth Vader is is a name that no one has ever spoken of in love, and never will. The Sith can feel this in his bones, in his soul, this truth echoing through the Force like the shriek of a Rankor. It is and always will be a symbol of fear, and rightly so, as the power of the man who answers to it will be incredible. But it will never be loved.

It is seeped too heavily in darkness to ever bring goodness to the world.

The bodies of younglings on the council floor flash through his mind again, and the Sith understands why.

The Chosen One. The Hero With No Fear. Anakin Skywalker. Darth Vader.

A shadow of all four stands on the balcony at the power station of Mustafar, his eyes yellow and mind aching as he stares out at the lava below, and he hates the last name with ever fibre of his being.