Specks of light glimmered across the sky as evening approached. Coruscant, with its ever-present hum, stirred under her feet. Padmé lounged in her quarters straightening her belongings, her hips complaining as she retrieved discarded laundry on the floor.
Twenty years had passed since Order 66.
Her children were adults themselves. Raising Luke and Leia made fighting in the Clone Wars seem like child’s play. Motherhood altered her perception; her awareness was heightened to extremes.
Worry was her constant state of mind; no change.
By a galaxy given miracle, Anakin had evaded the dark side through the years. Her heart softened when she remembered his unconditional love for the children; a part of her believed without Luke and Leia, his rage would have burned too deeply to recover. Luke, with his indomitable will and impulsive heroism.
Indeed, Luke troubled Padmé most. Despite her efforts and Anakin’s encouragement, anxiety coursed through her veins pondering even the little she knew about Jedi training and its rigor. It seemed only yesterday he was taking his first steps, knocking into side tables and bedposts; now he wielded a lightsaber and flew a starfighter.
Years may as well be seconds.
A sharp knock at the door echoed through the flat; Padmé gasped.