For @jundland

[resoluteandunyielding]

𝓓𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓵𝓮𝓽 𝓲𝓽 𝓴𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝔂𝓸𝓾
𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓲𝓽 𝓱𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓵
𝓞𝓱, 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽
𝓓𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓵𝓮𝓽 𝓲𝓽 𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽



𝓓𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓵𝓮𝓽 𝓲𝓽 𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽
𝓞𝓱, 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽
𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓪𝓷'𝓽 𝓭𝓸 𝓲𝓽 𝓫𝔂 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯
𝓣𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓼 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓵 𝓲𝓽

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( life gets hard and it gets messed up )

[resoluteandunyielding]

The silence around her is so thick that the few people who know she's here rarely move to penetrate it now. It is not that they won't try, but that they have, for so long, to no avail. She sleeps. Eats. Nurses. Heals. But the last she'd spoken were the words that rambled and scrambled from her lips as she lay writhing under the birthing pains, naming her children before she passed out and almost died (again). Until tonight.

Staring now at the twins sleeping in the bassinets before her, Padmé's eyes cloud again, blurring their shapes. Their distress a discordant catch even before they begin to fret again (mirrors on mirrors) until she has to blink it away. Push it down. The Amidala Mask is broken all around, but somewhere within those shards is the youngest child who ever sat stone-faced on the Naboo throne through so much worse.

She's cried far too much already —

she knows

— and it's time she stopped being
the person she's let herself be.

Padmé feels it (him; Obi-Wan) long before she should, but it's been this way since not long before she knew she was pregnant. She'd asked Dormé for him, her voice a thin rasp, and she can't tell if she's gratefully unsurprised it's the space of minutes since only or if she should apologize already. For the late hour. For the fact, there's so much worse happening everywhere, to everyone, else outside this room, too, and so much of it is his, too.

But she can't do this alone. Not yet.