Disclaimer: All hail the mouse.
When she first thought of marriage, all those years ago, she never stayed long on the idea of ceremonies and honeymoons, bodily pleasures, or children, but she tried combining her name, Annikin, with various surnames.
Sometimes she pictured herself going mad due to fear of loneliness. In her head, she would stare emptily to the distance. The small ringing of windchimes, the only available entertainment on arid Tatooine (besides propaganda—and soap-filled HoloNet), calmed everyone else in the institution, but not her. So with her usual harebrained plan, she made an attempt to escape—and she did. Unfortunately, she ended up marrying her (long-lost, according to her dream self's dumbstruck expression) cousin Owen Lars.
Annikin Lars has a nice ring to it, but it was so wrong she had to consciously stop herself from emptying her stomach.
Then she thought about Kitster, a good friend, trusted confidant...and her first crush. She imagined their marriage to be simple, attended by only close friends and family, but their life would be so karking boring she saw herself confess to the brunet that she'd rather have adventures than children.
Needless to say, the name Annikin Banai quickly became a disgrace among the family.
Years later in real life, as she met and befriended the man who would become her brother in all but blood (and more, a treacherous voice whispered), she liked to picture a life of laughs and shared wisdom with a copper-haired daughter. They were happy, thriving on peaceful Stewjon, and she would proudly introduce herself: hello sir, my name is Annikin Kenobi.
She also tried more random combinations like Annikin Kryze, Annikin Naberrie, Annikin Dooku, even Annikin Palpatine, but never once she associated herself with an insignificant wimp that happened to be her prom date.
She smiles fondly at the memory. She only asked him to make Obi-Wan jealous, she chuckles, fingering said date's old bow tie. She remembered wearing her father's best tuxedo, hair slicked back with a handful of gel while he'd stolen his sister's frilly dress, a dark, long wig on top of his head. Their dance had been ferocious, feet stomping with unnecessary force as the slow waltz flowed softly from the speakers. She had been leading it, she recalled, the image of her poor date's swollen feet in too-small wedges filling her mind. She dominated all the way, twirling and ducking and spinning the younger boy towards Kenobi. Obi-Wan's hurt eyes had ignited triumph back then, but now...
She shakes her head. Wishing wouldn't make him come back or forgive you, she tells herself sternly. And look at the bright side. Something good came out from the prom, no?
"Are you ready, Commander Skywalker?"
She swirls to see her husband-to-be, beaming so bright that it paled the sun. "Of course," she winks teasingly, brushing back her now-long hair, "But it's Commander Piett now, Firmus."
My first try at romance! Not sure about the quality, this was written on a whim...
Your opinion is appreciated, regardless! ;;)