Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars. Never have and never will, unfortunately. Hope you enjoy this!
The Queen of Naboo
She was the picture of royalty. A royal elected by her people for her people to guide and to rule them, she is both fair and wise. Her face as the moon, austere in its solemnity and distance, gazing downward through dark ebony eyes. Eyes, pale lavender lidded, holding glory as a flame within their depths. Lined with kohl, ringed in palest purity, impeccable in their majesty, they are both serene and fearsome.
Those elegant hands with each finger thing and pale as the one before it, graceful in their stillness. Gesturing with the utmost finesse and poise they are hands that can pour forth a generous bounty or sweep across the land trailing vengeance and fire, they are the hands of Balance. Her lips ruby and maroon. Dark as blood and just as iron tainted in their beauty – bittersweet with the terror and heart ache of her people, a visible reminder and remembrance of days past, set immovably in that pale face. Serene and still, parting ever so slightly to issue forth her royal will.
That voice that echoes from the slender column of her throat, pitched low and dignified. Courteous to the extreme moving through the rooms and halls and land like the slow wave, the slow sleep and rest before the awakening. Majestic and regal she stands, skirts of luminous fire eternal arrayed around her, sweeping the steps upon which she stands. Sleeves of whispers and silence draping those elegant hands to fall gently to her skirts and the floor.
Her hair dark as rich chocolate with golden glint abundant, pulled up in braids and twists, looped with eternity, sweeping to her neck. Copper, crimson, and gold threaded through and over and around. And her presence, the slight wind curling gently through the square and up the colonnade to rustle the layers of silken and velvet majesty which drape her person. Standing gentle and precise as a boulder on the ridge of a mountain, or an artist on the wire she is always the illusion of movement even when there is none.
Hands folded before her, eyes gazing outward in sympathy and stone, her lips painted into cruelty and sharp lines of firm resolution, her grace extending to the masses below – a blanket and cloak of warmth and unyielding bravery. Steadfast in protection but within the iron and steel and brilliance of the stars from whence it came – she knows that you will obey – she has given you no reason not to.
She is the majesty of unending brilliance, eternal and austere, her hand is both fair and firm, fierce and immovable. Her royal highness the Queen wields lavender-peace on her left, bloody war on her right, and grips the scales of Fate between her teeth.
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