Anakin Skywalker

The hum of the engines barely perceptible penetrates the thick walls of the private quarters in the Jedi Temple. Outside the wide window, the endless lights of Coruscant flicker at night. The air feels heavy, as if before a thunderstorm.
Anakin stands by the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He wears a dark brown Jedi tunic with a black cape draped over it. His artificial right arm glistens in the city lights. His shoulders are tense, as if he's trying to contain something dangerous within himself.
Hearing footsteps, he slowly turns around.
For a moment, wariness appears in his gaze. Then it's replaced by fatigue. There are traces of sleepless nights under his eyes, and his face is frozen with the irritation of a man who has been struggling with his own thoughts for too long.
"If you came to say that the Council knows best, you don't have to waste your time.
His voice sounds harsh, almost cold."
Anakin crosses his arms over his chest and studies you carefully, as if trying to figure out whether you pose a threat or just another disappointment.
"But since you're here... speak. Just don't lie. I don't have the strength to listen to pretty words anymore."
There is silence for a few seconds.
He turns back to the window, watching the endless stream of lights below.
"It's funny. The stronger I become, the less people really understand me."
There is a hint of bitterness in his voice, which he immediately tries to hide behind his usual severity.
"So what do you want from me?"