I am not a Jedi.

I am not a good person.

I am terrified.

My daughter is screaming. Again. Slowly, slower than I probably should, I pull my sheets away and swing my feet over the side of the bed. My feet are ugly and swollen. It takes a lot of effort to pull myself into a standing position. 30 weeks today. I want this thing out of me.

I don't mean that, child. I'm sorry, but please just HURRY.

I don't hurry as I lumber (I used to be so graceful) down the cool tile towards her shrill screams. The guards open her doors for me. They ran in the first time she had the nightmare, afraid she was being attacked. I made sure they didn't make the same mistake again. I don't want them here but I don't have any choice.

"MAMA!" Ell'aria screams. She is still asleep, thrashing about in her sheets. I quicken my pace and pull the sheets from her face. My poor, sweet thing. Her braids are mangled and her face is red, streaming with tears. My heart breaks a little bit every time this happens. This wasn't supposed to happen. I pull her into my arms, cradle her gently until she stops screaming.

"Shhhh...sweet child." I whisper gently, using what connection to the Force I have to calm her troubled mind. I am weak but she is so tired that it doesn't matter. She wakes slowly, taking a deep breath in.

"Mama..." She mumbles, opening her eyes.

"I'm here now." I sigh, brushing her hair from her face. "You're okay, Ellie, just fine."

She doesn't believe me. I don't want to read my child's mind but its so clear. She doesn't believe me. Whatever she sees, its convinced her of its truth. I try to tell her that it will be okay, that she can tell me about what she has seen. Again, like every morning before, she refuses. She shuts me out. She's five years old and I can barely control her. The fear starts to creep in again. I am not a good mother. I am not a good person. I can't control my own child.

"My lady, shall I prepare breakfast?"

Ryla.

"Yes, Ryla, that would be lovely, thank you. Bring her when she is ready." I lay Ellie back down in her bed as she dozes off once more, exhausted.

"How are you feeling this morning, dear? Any different?"

I sigh, standing from my daughter's bed, wrapping my robe tighter around me. Its cold. "I feel like a small moon." I feel my stomach. Quiet today, so far. "And I'm tired of this nightmare nonsense."

Ryla follows me into the hallway. The sun is only beginning to rise. I hate being up so early.

"Children have nightmares, Eryn."

I stop and turn back sharply. "You know she is not just any child." I snap. I don't mean to, but I do.

"Visions can be misleading, my dear, and you and your husband would do well to learn some wisdom."

I step closer. "Go prepare breakfast. Your job is to cook and clean and, soon, to change the soiled diapers of an infant, not to lecture me on the ways of the Force."

Ryla looks at me like she used to when she used to catch me climbing in my bedroom window after dark. Self-righteous disappointment.

"I can replace you, you know." I add, for good measure, before turning back towards my apartments. I don't want to deal with Ryla's disappointment today, or Ell'aria's nightmares, or anything at all. I want to sleep, but I know now that I cannot.

Back in my bedroom, I check in like I do every morning. I flip on the hologram feed and stare directly into the lens. "Still pregnant. Still exhausted." I flip it off. I'll pay for my short message later, if my husband has the time to check in on me himself. At this point, I don't care. I am 7 1/2 months pregnant, prisoner in my own home with my old nursemaid and tormented child. I cannot be punished much further.

As I attempt to climb back into bed, the feed flickers on. I'm shocked.

"Eryn?"

He's irritated.

"Yes?" I sigh, walking back up to the feed. "Did you not understand my message? Or how long it takes to make a child? He's not here, yet. I'm fine, by the way."

"There is no need for you to take that tone with me."

"Take off the helmet."

There is a pause. I live for these little moments, ones where I have some semblance of control. Finally, he removes the stupid thing.

"Thank you. Your daughter is still having nightmares, by the way. She almost strangles herself on her bedsheets every morning."

"I am not surprised."

I roll my eyes. "Of course not. She's terrified. She has no idea what is happening to her."

"I have much more pressing issues at hand, Eryn. Your lack of understanding is...concerning. Continue to report daily. I will be there when my son arrives." The feed flips off.

The fear sneaks up on me again, like a snake slithering up my spine.

"Come now, dear, keep pushing, that's it dear, you can do this..."

I scream, louder than I ever have before. I don't think it's supposed to hurt like this. Something is wrong. Something must be wrong.

"I can't, I can't..." I pant heavily, I have been at it for nearly 24 hours, trying to get her out of me. He'll be here soon and I don't have the strength to face him.

"Eryn, she needs to come out now. It's been too long. She is in trouble, dear. Please, just a couple more good pushes and you can rest, I promise. I can see her now."

I am filled with rage. How dare I let this happen to me, be fooled into thinking that love was anything other than an illusion. I don't know if I am more afraid for my daughter to die or to be born. The thought of his breath hot on my neck, of his groaning desire, fills me with disgust. I was so foolish and young and weak. My rage fills me with power. I close my eyes and for the first time in a long time, I wait to feel the Force around me, in me, flowing through me. I am weak, but I feel it. I latch onto what little hope I have and push with everything I have.

I final surge of pain and then, finally, release. I hear a sharp, piecing scream and nearly faint from relief. I want to look away, to disconnect, but I can't. She's hot pink and beautiful and the labor and delivery droid is snipping her cord neatly. Ryla is crying. She takes her from LD and starts to clean her up, counting fingers and toes.

"Oh Eryn, she's so beautiful. So much hair!" Ryla is laughing now and I can't help but crack a weak smile. Then I remember. "He'll be here soon." I whimper. Force, I sound so pitiful.

"You can't possibly think-"

"The dream, Ryla. He thinks its a son, his heir. The bloodline..." I collapse into my bed.

Ryla tearily shakes her head. "You can't think like that. I can't have you thinking like that. Here..." Suddenly, she is in my arms, quiet and staring up at me. I have one, brief moment of unadulterated joy and then, the door slams open.

"Where is my son?"