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PThe day of her coronation, she is dressed in vine silk and plumage, an exotic bird among the throng of attendants, administrators, and bureaucrats that compose the heart of Naboo s political seat. She is silent, though she knows they will expect her to speak, and she is afraid, though her hands do not shake. In the riot of sound, Padm feels small and indistinct; she is neither the first nor the youngest girl queen, but in the measure of her youth, she feels equally lacking./p
PIt is Rab who rescues her from the maw, clasping her hand and ushering her away to a back room where the other handmaidens await her. Sab looks at her, a stranger in her panoply, and Padm wonders if she is thinking of Varykino, of summer and scraped knees and laughter. They were small once; she wonders if they are small still./p
pEirta is not so impressed, her eyes cutting as they take the whole of her, hem to crown. She presses her lips into a fine line, voice curt. Time is short. Let s get her readied. /p
PWith little fuss, they press her into high backed chairs, smoothing the folds of her dress and unwinding the natural curl of her hair, pulling it into a style more elegant and severe. Brush in hand, Eirta smooths away blemish and character, and Amidala emerges, piece by piece, in painted flesh and taut features. A touch a rouge on her lips, and the portrait emerges complete. It must takes hours, yet her heart pounds under her breast - too soon - when they look up from their work, complete./p
PSab s hands are on her shoulders, smoothing the lines of her dress down, and perhaps, Amidala thinks, steadying her, a mother bird readying her fledgling for flight. Rab s breath tickles, mischievous, when she whispers in her ear, Now, you look like a queen. /p
PShe breathes in once, holding it, savoring these last few moments of girlhood in her breast. She lets it out carefully and stands./p
PIn the mirror, they make quite a sight, the lot of them: a seamless blend of sleek features and sharp eyes, draped in red cloth and reverence. Even Eirta is softened in the ambient light, her eyes grown liquid and soft. Her mouth is kind now, and their hands are clasped./p
P Your people await, your Highness. /p
PThey move as they always have, queen and handmaiden and girl and maid all and again together. Strands of a thread, wound tightly into one./p
PThe day of her coronation, she is dressed in vine silk and plumage, an exotic bird among the throng of attendants, administrators, and bureaucrats that compose the heart of Naboo s political seat. She is silent, though she knows they will expect her to speak, and she is afraid, though her hands do not shake. In the riot of sound, Padm feels small and indistinct; she is neither the first nor the youngest girl queen, but in the measure of her youth, she feels equally lacking./p
PIt is Rab who rescues her from the maw, clasping her hand and ushering her away to a back room where the other handmaidens await her. Sab looks at her, a stranger in her panoply, and Padm wonders if she is thinking of Varykino, of summer and scraped knees and laughter. They were small once; she wonders if they are small still./p
pEirta is not so impressed, her eyes cutting as they take the whole of her, hem to crown. She presses her lips into a fine line, voice curt. Time is short. Let s get her readied. /p
PWith little fuss, they press her into high backed chairs, smoothing the folds of her dress and unwinding the natural curl of her hair, pulling it into a style more elegant and severe. Brush in hand, Eirta smooths away blemish and character, and Amidala emerges, piece by piece, in painted flesh and taut features. A touch a rouge on her lips, and the portrait emerges complete. It must takes hours, yet her heart pounds under her breast - too soon - when they look up from their work, complete./p
PSab s hands are on her shoulders, smoothing the lines of her dress down, and perhaps, Amidala thinks, steadying her, a mother bird readying her fledgling for flight. Rab s breath tickles, mischievous, when she whispers in her ear, Now, you look like a queen. /p
PShe breathes in once, holding it, savoring these last few moments of girlhood in her breast. She lets it out carefully and stands./p
PIn the mirror, they make quite a sight, the lot of them: a seamless blend of sleek features and sharp eyes, draped in red cloth and reverence. Even Eirta is softened in the ambient light, her eyes grown liquid and soft. Her mouth is kind now, and their hands are clasped./p
P Your people await, your Highness. /p
PThey move as they always have, queen and handmaiden and girl and maid all and again together. Strands of a thread, wound tightly into one./p