#furnacemade

     SHE’S HAD A LONG DAY, but she does her best not to pay attention to them. that dull roar of people who’ve demanded her attention. in this world she’s too young to get a position in politics, and the idea of being someone’s aide and fetching coffee hadn’t appealed   ------   so instead she’s a writer, a journalist, working on a story with no idea where it’ll take her. it’s a good distraction from where padme’d left. she doesn’t miss home   ( naboo or coruscant )   nearly as much with something to do until she got back.

     she’s been wishing for a way back, and a way forward is a good middle ground. in fact there weren’t all that many thoughts of anakin in particular in her mind when padme thinks she sees him from across a city street, fighting against a press of bodies as she makes to move towards him.     “Anakin?”     she calls, it’s crapshoot at best.

     her fingers wind between blades of grass. sometimes, she reminds herself that she was loved. because it feels like yesterday that he was lying in bed, thinking of nothing but her children and the pounding of her own heart. but that’d just been a TIME and she’s just been clinging to life. and she’d shut her eyes and --- it was like the world had been laid before her, her last firing synapse all screaming as she left their own plane of existence and returned into the force.

           death, for all the panic, was as natural as falling asleep.

     but padme’d come to terms. she died. end of story, and the story was one as old as time itself. so the figure, tall and wide and one she knows so well. --- its like a pleasant dream to her waking mind. anakin skywalker is hers, and he loves her. loves her like fish love the sea and the birds the sky. 

          she just smiles at him, and lifts a hand of half woven flowers.