Padmé
A year ago, she had stood on the balcony of her home, waiting for news of her missing friends as smoke spiraled from the steeple of the Jedi Temple. Apprehensive and frightened, she had listened to the words of one of the last remaining as he told her of her husband's betrayal. A year ago she had entrusted him with her son, in hopes he could still fulfill his destiny.
A year ago.
Her former husband was unaware of her survival, or else didn't care. Her only friend, her trusted protector was gone, to where she knew not by her own request. Her family had vanished, and not the most focused efforts could discover their fates.
But for the child she guarded, she would be alone.
To those in the palace, she was a nursemaid, caring for the orphaned child of an unknown mother. She was the caretaker of the future princess, the silent figure who stood in the background. She was the mourning mother who had lost everything in the span of a heartbeat.
She was dying, she knew – her grief was strong, stronger even than the hope that stirred in her for her hidden children, weaker than the injuries she had received that dreadful day. Perhaps her child would remember her, though she knew not what good it would do. But she knew that even with her death, others would go on, carrying out the cause she had given her life to.
In her absence, there would still be hope.