She dreamed the night the first Death Star blew.
She dreamed in violent colors, brutal and bright; a spectrum that hurt her eyes even in sleep. Starbursts of color, quickly rescinded but leaving an afterglow. Like a memory. A way to remember what was too magnificent to last in reality. A shadow of the brilliance; a less-vivid haze.
In daytime, she could rationalize the colors, their significance. The tragedy she'd experienced was beyond comprehension. Like a spectre one could only see in a mirror, she couldn't look headlong at her loss or she'd be blind.
In sleep she chased the colors. Pinpricks of fire: her father's piercing eyes. Electric blue: the Aldera Mountains rising above the palace walls. Sly, playful green: the Queen's Naming Day banners waving softly in the wind. Colors and colors and colors.
In daytime, she couldn't bear to see the colors. In her dreams, she couldn't see anything but.
Author's Note: Written for Erin Darroch