| rdfs:comment
| - Eyes snapped open to darkness, breath echoing in ragged gasps through the tiny enclosure. Beads of sweat rose on her forehead, her eyes still roving in vain for any light, any visibility. There was nothing. A moan of internal and external pain choked her, and she hugged herself tightly in the cold and obscurity. Even that simple movement caused her wrists to brush the surface hovering above her face, the scraping noise like an explosion in the silence of the dead. A light flicked on inside her brain, the only illumination so far. She had to get out and find her children. Luke and Leia. A memory.
|
| abstract
| - Eyes snapped open to darkness, breath echoing in ragged gasps through the tiny enclosure. Beads of sweat rose on her forehead, her eyes still roving in vain for any light, any visibility. There was nothing. A moan of internal and external pain choked her, and she hugged herself tightly in the cold and obscurity. Even that simple movement caused her wrists to brush the surface hovering above her face, the scraping noise like an explosion in the silence of the dead. For the first minute, perhaps, Padmé thought she would go mad. Her mind was still cloudy and unsure, and for the life of her she couldn't gather the unraveled threads that had woven her plan. She knew there had been a plan, but what was it? Panic and claustrophobia seeped through the blindness into her brain and in a moment of terror all she could do was scream and bang on the narrow space that was her tomb. “Anakin!” she screeched, small fists thrashing on all sides of her prison until her knuckles were raw and bloody, and her feet and knees bruised. “Anakin. Anakin. Anakin. Anakin...” It became her chant, a tie to her life and the person she had been and would never be again. Like a drum roll she repeated his name over and over again in a monotonous voice, tears streaking her face and her hands beating on the layers of stone in rhythm with her cries for a man who was dead. She stopped abruptly, poised for another strike. Slowly she pressed her weeping fingers to the surface above her, feeling the cold, moist stone. “What? Anakin?” she waited, ears pricked for a response. None came. Padme swallowed, trying to keep herself sane. Anakin was dead, the Republic was dead, the Jedi were dead, democracy and freedom were dead. Everything had perished and she was left with the ashes in the dark, more alone than any being had ever been before. There were so many things she had left undone and unsaid. She had to get out, to escape from her coffin and do something. A light flicked on inside her brain, the only illumination so far. She had to get out and find her children. Luke and Leia. A memory. And here she was. Padmé waited in the dark until her breathing had slowed to a normal rate. The pieces were falling back together now. She remembered, and understood what she had to do. She had to live, live for a day when she could hold her babies in her arms again, and tell them all the things they would no doubt need to know. Her pale and unfeeling hand found the small wooden charm, still around her neck. Slowly she unwound the length of the cord and pulled it out from around her head. Her other hand searched every nook and cranny of her tomb, and finally found the only uneven spot on the whole casket. The tip of her finger could almost fit inside. This must be what Obi-Wan had spoken of. Slowly she inserted the charm into the hole. The result was a very soft click. Hesitantly, Padmé twisted the object in its housing. There was a rush of wind and outside air as it poured inside her cell. The top began to lift away, swinging up and over, leaving the starry night sky as her new ceiling. A gentle but chilly sea breeze caused the new tears on her face to sting, but she did not wipe at them. What did she have now, if not her tears? She sat up, observing the surroundings of the place that should have been her eternal home. It was a good thing, she mused, that Naboo culture forbade cremation or embalming of their monarchs. Slowly, with aching muscles and a heavy heart, Padmé swung her legs out of the coffin. It had been made of stone and set atop a large marble platform. Flowers were strewn near its base, as well as letters and pictures. Padmé's heart warmed at the affection of her people. If only she could comfort them in their grief. Closing the lid and making sure in was sealed tightly, the former queen and senator dropped down to the ground and scurried for the shadows. She needed to rid herself of the cumbersome and betraying ceremonial attire. Not only that, but she needed off Naboo. She needed a new identity.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)