It was on the day of his triumph—the day when the Jedi Order fell and he crowned himself Emperor—that Darth Sidious heard the voice of his father whisper into his ear. It was slightly disconcerting, given that his father had been dead for years now.

"Flesh of my flesh, red?" Cosinga Palpatine asked. His tone was that of cool, well-bred disapproval. "With your complexion?"

Sidious ignored him, of course. What did the whisper of a dead man mean when compared to the screams of the living? He grinned as he looked at the sheep that the Senators were, and allowed himself a moment of self-satisfaction. They had given him their freedom and their lives on a silver platter—offered it to him as tribute to their savior, and never had it once occurred to them that he was the very danger they were seeking protection from-

"Are you planning to hide something in those sleeves?" a child-Queen in ceremonial dress asked with disdain.

Sidious felt his grin become a rictus and forced himself to put his anger aside. He would not let a long-dead teenage girl taint his victory.

"Black is absolutely not your colour," Padme Naberrie said, her translucent form radiating disapproval.

Sidious felt a part of his forehead twitch in irritation.

"And what is this fabric anyway?" asked another ghost. Her hair was styled according to Nubian fashion from two hundred years ago, and her clothes might have been some sort of flowing silk.

"I am making a statement," Sidious said. A small part of himself cried out then—he had lost something by answering to the ghost's accusations. "I'm throwing away the splendor and pomp of the old Republic, and embracing frugality."

"You do not have to wear sack-cloth to be frugal," Cosinga Palpatine sniffed.

"It's starting to fall apart," a long-dead king in ceremonial robes of office said.

Sidious nodded at Mas Amedda and smiled. He watched his Vizier recoil at the sight, and for a moment, the sight drowned out the… outrage at the critique. How dare some silly wraith mention his very comfortable robes with disdain? It had taken months for them to reach just the right softness.

His skin had gotten extremely sensitive since he had to fry himself somewhat with Force lightning.

"It looks more dark green than black," a Gungan ghost added. Or at least that was what Sidious assumed he had said. Or was it a she? All Gungans looked the same and sounded equally incomprehensible.

"My baby," Padme Naberrie cooed, as Luke Skywalker stepped into Sidious's view. "Look at him."

"What a daring use of black," Sidious's grand-grand-aunt said. "How bravely austere."

That was just patently unfair, Sidious thought sourly. Hadn't he been wearing austere black clothes for years now? Just because he was too old to pull of those pants some half-grown boy would get the credit for his style.

Austere black was his thing!

"Anakin, if you hurt my son, I swear I will come back to life and eat your heart while you watch!" Padme hissed. Vader remained oblivious to her threats, but Sidious… Well, for a moment, he actually had been wondering what the young woman would do to him, if she made such promises to her once beloved.

"You should have at least worn make up, flesh of my flesh," Cosinga Palpatine said somberly. "Such a momentous confrontation, and you're looking like a pale prune."