Crimson Tears
Chapter 6
By aznJEDI13
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Anakin and Amidala and everyone else. Heck, he owns just about everything in the story. This is purely for fan enjoyment.
Notes: This takes place during the Clone Wars. I must warn you right now that I'm not a big fan of Anakin turning into Darth Vader so it probably won't end with anything like that. I hope you like this; I've been reading too many ami/obi ones I was sooooooooooooo mad. That was completely random and I'm going to write a bunch of stories to rebel against them!
I hate love triangles but I write them because it's a plot twister. Right now I have no clue if I'm going to add it or not, actually I have no clue if I'll even finish this one. I don't really know where its going so this is a really questionable story. ENJOY! Feedback is REALLY appreciated.
Thanks to everyone who left a review! Please continue to do so. I was so shocked, I've never had so many reviews and I enjoyed reading them over and over again so please continue! I like long reviews too!!!
Italics mean flashbacks and sometimes they mean thoughts. It depends on the context and the way they are used. //also means thoughts or something of the past.//
Sorry for the confusion.
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'…I can't breathe until you're resting here with me…'
No. No. No. It couldn't be true. It wasn't true.
She cried. She sobbed. She ran.
Ran for dear life, down the halls, through the corridors, into endless circles, twisting and turning everyone in different directions as they frantically tried to get out of her way. People cursed incomprehensible words towards her, mumbled incoherent phrases, and gasps at her franticness. They cursed her ignorance, and her rudeness. Some showed their empathy at her situation as others brushed it if incompetently. Others showed pity and gave her looks of sympathy. But she ran, ran away from it all, hoping only to run away from the nightmare that plagued her now.
An insomnia that would torture her for days, weeks - months to come.
All she wanted to do was wake up from this tormenting underworld, this vivid, surreal hell.
But deep down inside, she knew it was not a dream. It was reality. The reality, they had been living in turned into a horrible nightmare and the dream world had become a callous dark world of the dead.
In sixty seconds her whole world had changed.
From her perfect, safe, haven of life and luxury into a dark and murky, callous and incompetent hell.
Finally tired of running endless circles, she drowned herself in her tears as she sobbingly collapsed onto the metal floor. It's cool surface a hollow reminder of the disposition she faced.
He doesn't remember her. He doesn't know her face. He doesn't know her voice. He doesn't know her name.
Yet she knows him. She knows his touch in her dreams as they have been endlessly burned into her petrified memory. Her lips still tingle from his kiss and her body continues to ache for his strong arms and yearns to feel them again. Her dark tresses stand on end, waiting for his strong, soft fingers to run through them.
But he doesn't remember her. He doesn't know her name. He doesn't know her face. And he's forgotten her touch.
Why was life so cruel?
She closed her eyes and all she remembers is his calm blank stare and his awkward new emotions. Nothing like the boy she knew, she cared for, or the man she loved.
But when she opened them she is reminded of her disposition. She is reminded that she loves someone else – that she loves the ghost, not the man, but the ghost of a man long forgotten.
His eyes continually haunt her as she sobs, trying to seek solace in her dreams and in her past – in what she knew, what she felt so long ago.
"Padme."
Two warm hands up come to her gripping her shoulders. Whispering soothing words of comfort and slowly calming her as tears continue to weep from her beautiful brown eyes until she can finally focus on his poignant face.
She sniffles unable to regain her normal breathing patterned.
"Padme…" his voice fades for a second and then returns, "I'm so sorry."
Sadness. Pain. Fear. Hurt. Too many emotions for one person.
"You have to get up, Padme."
Too many things holding her down.
"You must be strong," he gulped, "For Anakin."
His tears, tears of pearl so white and fresh to beheld by her glass eyes.
Her tears, tears crimson and perfect, coarse and rigged, a ghastly reflection of her heart and her emotion. Too dark to be misplaced and too dark to be concealed.
She sobbed. Life was not fair. Life was never fair. She couldn't control it. It was too hard to bare.
She hated life.
And she was almost sure it hated her.
"Padme." His voice again, "Padme, please, say something."
It hurt too much to talk. It hurt too much to think. It hurt too much to dream.
All because he wasn't right there, beside her – breathing the same air, living the same life.
Life was not fair.
Another tear fell to the ground shattering on the cool floor and reflecting a once vision of supreme confidence and courageous witt, serene perfection and angelic beauty, now a vision of undefined confusion, pale regent and utter distressed woman.
He doesn't remember her. He doesn't know her voice. He doesn't know her face. And he can't remember her touch.
Why was life so terrible?
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The angel of his dreams.
He was confused. Who was that potent beauty?
That undefined mistress with oceans of endless brown waves and auburn pools of devotion. And she called him Anakin. Sure that was his name, but he had never seen such beauty before.
He would have remembered – wouldn't he?
She seemed so young yet so distressed. So happy though she ran away in hurt. Why did she run?
Why did the angel of his dreams run?
Of course, he had vision of her in his dreams or someone like her. Visions of such beauty beckoning to him and calling his name. Blowing kisses to the sky, tracing her fingers in the sand, feet lazily dangling in the shore.
A pure figment in his imagination, no creature existed with such exoticness.
Yet she had stood in his doorway, asked if he had remembered her and ran.
Her eyes had shown such love, but hurt. So much care, but pain. Too much agony for such beauty. Indeed who was that? Was it just a mysterious mistress who had ended up by his room or the potent angel that flew with him and cast him into unpleasant slumber?
Who was that beauty?
Could she be a mistress of the night, her fire shining brightly with potent beauty?
Or the angel of his dreams?
Who was she?
To be continued…
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