Cas·san·dra
noun
1. a daughter of Priam and Hecuba, a prophet
cursed by Apollo so that her prophecies, though true, were fated
never to be believed.
2. a person who prophesies doom or
disaster.
3. a female given name: from a Greek word meaning
"helper of men."
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( pause )
"I never tell you stories anymore, do I, Padme?" I pause in removing my make up, and put aside the wet cloth. Half of my face is still caked with white powder, a quarter still with a thin layer of make up and the last, thank the stars, is blessedly clear. I turn away from my reflection, tuck a loose strand of dark hair behind my ear and frown.
"What do you mean?" The smile my elder cousin gives me is one I've come to dread in the last few days, since my return to Naboo. It is a hollow rendition of what her smile used to be, empty of the joy that used to characterize her. More than that it seems to emphasize the weight loss in her face, the fatigue in her eyes. I used to love that smile; it would take over her entire face, lighting it up like a star. Now I hate it, and I want to beg her to not smile, just relax. Not to make an effort to seem happy. Because she's not. Very few of us are. We may have won the war, we may have reclaimed our homes, but there was still so much to do. There were so many people to bury, and there would be still more in the coming days. There were towns to rebuild, morale to restore, faith to recapture. Happiness was a long way away.
"Don't look like that, Padme." She laughs, and this I don't mind. Her laugh hasn't changed and it has everything that her smile lacks. It lights up her face, makes her look alive, makes me think that maybe the war hasn't taken such a toll on her health. She pushes back the heavy covers, and slides out of the huge bed slowly. When her feet touch the floor a shiver runs through her, as if she's cold. But the floor is carpeted, and even though she might be cold, I know that's not why she's shivering. Her body is deteriorating. Her legs first; and now when ever she walks it hurts. She didn't tell me of course. Helene is too private for that. But I spoke to the doctor.
"Padme," she sighs, sitting next to me, her hand taking mine, "You think too much." She reaches behind me, and takes out the clip that holds my hair together beneath my headdress, then reaches for the brush sitting on the vanity. Suddenly, it's like I'm ten again, and we're sitting on her balcony, by the lake. I can hear the water, and the birds and I can smell that smell, the one that always makes me think of her. It's water and feathers and earth all mixed together. The breeze that wafts into her room only makes the memory more vivid.
"I wish we could go back," I say, leaning into her brush strokes. Her laugh is soft as she parts my hair and then begins combing the hair on my left side, asking me to turn a little.
"You'll go back," she replies with a smile, "It'll be yours soon, at any rate." I don't reply. I don't want to think about it. I don't want the lake house. I want what the lake house always meant. Family and fun and relaxation. True happiness at its best. Helene wasn't an aunt, or my big sister. She was my cousin. The one I went to see every summer in the mountains. The one that represented an otherworldly entity. I always thought she knew so much. That she had seen so much. She knew the name of every flower, every tree. She knew how to make bird calls, where the underwater beaches were, where the best spots to fish were. When ever I had a question, even when we weren't at the lake house, I'd call or write to her and ask her. And her response always made me think, and wonder.
I took a breath and closed my eyes. The lump in my throat was growing bigger. I couldn't cry. I wouldn't do that to my most beloved family member.
She settled in front of me and reached for the wet cloth that I had put aside earlier. The circles she rubbed into my face weren't at all gentle, and I marveled that she still had that sort of strength in her hands. The silence that followed was the kind I had grown accustomed to as a child; comfortable, easy, almost weightless. I allowed my face to settle into her hands, and scowled every once in a while, when her rubs turned particularly vigorous.
I examined her. My cousin had always been small; the presence of ill health and absence of weight ensured it. Neither of us had ever hoped to compete with the height that our fathers possessed. Her hair was the black typical of all our family and framed a face that had never been able to capture a tan. But her eyes were what I and nearly every one else, loved most about her appearance. Somehow, it would never be said of her that she had unremarkable brown eyes. The shade of them did not lean towards gold, or green or blue. They were solidly, undeniably brown, but a brown that managed to capture earth and confidence, a beauty that seemed to reside in nature alone. When I looked at her eyes I always felt that if I could capture their color in my personality I would be worthy of the people that I served.
A knock at the door coincided with her setting aside the wet cloth. She frowned and stood up, biting her lower lip. The glance she spared me was strange, but I dismissed it.
"Do you want me to answer it?" I asked her, but she shook her head and gave me the smile that I hated.
"What would they think of the Queen of Naboo answering a door?" She said, before leaving to answer the door. Her room connected to a living room that at any other time she might have had to share with another person, but she was the only person in this corridor. I heard the door open, and then nothing but the low murmur of voices. The sound rose and fell, almost rhythmically. Who was she talking to? And why was it taking so long? It was late in the night and truthfully, the doctor had stressed her sleeping early. She was sick and needed rest. So who would keep her up? Barring myself, of course.
A loss of patience forced me to my feet and to the door separating her bedroom from the living room. I straightened my shoulders, ready to give who ever was there a piece of my mind not as Padme, but as Amidala, the Queen of Naboo. But the sight that greeted me gave me pause.
I recognized Master Kenobi; though he could have been any of the Jedi that had come to pay their respects on Naboo, the spiked brown hair gave him away. Heat rose in my face as I realized that he was holding my cousin, his arms wrapped around her in a way I had only ever seen lovers hold each other, his face lowered to hers. His voice carried across the room to where I stood; I could hear their conversation clearly.
I need you tonight, Helene. Let me stay here.
If possible, my face burned hotter still as full comprehension dawned on me. She had not expected me here tonight and had said so when I arrived, still dressed in my ceremonial robes. And clearly, Master Kenobi had not been expecting me either.
She wrapped her arms around him, allowing him to press a kiss to her lips.
Helene...
She was breathless when she pulled away, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes left his face, turning to the doorway where I hid. My breath caught in my throat, and I moved back, afraid she would catch me watching. Their relationship should not have been. Master Kenobi was a Jedi and Helene...Helene was dying. She had been on Naboo for the duration of the invasion and what should have been years left to live had dwindled to months, perhaps weeks, under their harsh care. She was only twenty three. When had they met? And why had neither taken care to follow rules or think logically? It was a relationship that could not and would not survive.
Her eyes left the door and she turned back to him, "Wait a moment, here." She said, and kissed the palm of his hand, "I'll be only a moment."
I was ahead of her, and had gathered my robe. When she came in through the doorway, I was already as dressed as I could be, given the fact that I couldn't put the ceremonial clothes back on with out help. I had grabbed one of her own robes and slippers to wear back to my own quarters.
"Padme..." She started hesitantly, but I didn't need her to finish.
"Panaka is probably wondering where I disappeared to. I should probably return to my own rooms." She gave me a weak smile and this one I didn't mind so much. It was relieved, and instead of emphasizing all the wrong things, seemed to make them less.
"I will see you tomorrow?" I nodded and hugged her before leaving, stopping briefly to say good night to the Jedi standing in the room. Even as I was leaving, he was moving towards Helene,who was standing in the doorway to her bedroom, waiting to receive him. I paused at the door, and glanced back. The door had shut and I could hear nothing. The fire flickering in the fireplace was dying. Their shadows spread from the little light that shone from beneath the door.
And then, a whisper that I might have imagined:
I love you, Obi Wan.
