Padmé's hands had always been so warm. Maybe it was because she came from a planet like paradise, a planet like Naboo. Anakin didn't know what temperature his hands were, Tatooine had been so hot but all of the planets he'd traveled to probably were colder. So he just thought that he was normal.

One day he had gotten home after a long week spent on the battlefield. He gripped Padmé's hands tightly as they kissed and noted how warm and comforting they were.

"Milady, your hands are like heaters they're so comforting," he grinned at her.

Padmé's hands grabbed his even tighter as she grinned at him. "Oh Anakin," she breathed with a smile, "My hands are only as warm as the things they touch."

"Then you must have spent a long time preparing the fireplace, then," Anakin told her.


Padmé's hands had always been so warm. But now they were as cold as ever because even in the warm environment of Naboo, Vader sensed that their temperature was even lower than his.

He'd always believed that his hatred burned as hot as the lava. Yet even as he and his beloved empress walked out onto the stage to greet their subjects, her hands, her heart, were colder than ice.

"Milady, your hands are like icicles because they are so cold," he muttered to her.

Padmé's hard eyes bore into his, even though she couldn't see them. Her thin hands squeezed his mechanical ones tightly.

"My hands are only as cold as the things they touch," she said.