Author's Notes: First thing's first, I'd forgotten how much of this chapter was inspired by a story about Anakin and Padmé, which detailed the couple in a startling new light. I am in so much debt to the author, it's untrue, and I apologise for not making this clear sooner. I'm surprised at how similar parts of this chapter have turned out to her story and, if they do seem too close, she's welcome to ask me to change or omit parts that I've written. So credit to Kelly B who wrote "Succumb".
This chapter is real nasty - REAL nasty - but you'll be glad to know that I won't be torturing poor Padmé like this for much longer – this is 'the turning point'. However, I've decided to up it to an R - I don't think I can risk a PG-13 for much longer. This is worse than Part 9 - "Nemesis" in some respects, but not in all. And, though I hadn't thought about it before, since I've watched McKellan's "Richard III" adaptation, I can't help but see parallel's with my Count, particularly in this chapter; Serenn's not quite as bad as the Shakespearian Richard, but still, the similarities are there… shrugs Coincidence, I guess.
Take this chapter as you will, and see you at the next part!
Disclaimer: I'm a no longer a poor (as in skint, not as in pitiable! ) ickle Sithling…but I still don't own anything!
Part 27
Padmé opened the door to her room in the palace where she was to sleep overnight, before final negotiations took place tomorrow. She would much rather have stayed with her family for a while than lodge here in the Palace, but Dooku didn't seem to trust her to be far from him at all – not unless he was satisfied that she could do nothing to compromise him or his mysterious endeavours. And she'd rather obey him than risk inciting his rage at the moment…
Personally, Padmé felt it most courteous of the Queen to be so kind to her and the Count - even more so to the Count - by offering them such hospitality, especially when one considered that they together threatened to plunge Naboo head-on into the recently arisen conflicts.
She lugged her suitcase over to the table at the room's centre and turned to Sola, who had accompanied her here, giving her a fond yet sombre look; "Thanks, Sola," she nodded, turning away, "I'll be fine now."
Sola paced over to her sibling's side and put an affectionate hand on her shoulder, "But you're not fine," she returned, "You're hurting inside – I can see it."
"Don't fuss, please," Padmé sighed, wafting her hand off her, "I've got enough to think about – I don't need you grousing over me, too."
"I need to 'grouse' because you're always too selfless!" her sister replied in a light-hearted tone, "You ought to think of yourself once in a while, you know! Please just tell me what's bothering you - it'll help to get it off your chest."
Padmé put a hand to her forehead, feeling a migraine coming on, "It's nothing," she continued, rubbing her temples.
"Oh, Padmé, you always say that!" Sola countered, shaking her head gently, "There's been something fishy about this whole affair since it began."
" 'Affair'?"
"Yes - your joining the Separatists."
Padmé exhaled slowly, looking down.
"What made you join them? And be honest…" Sola queried conservatively.
"I just had to," she softly replied, "You have to believe me when I say it was for the good of our planet; I'm just certain that the Sith Lord is in the Senate, and, because of it, I can't serve the Republic anymore…"
Slowly, Sola nodded, still uncertain by Padm's evasive responses; she gave her sister another long, earnest look before she added, "There's something else, though, isn't there? Something other bothering you?"
Padm's brow furrowed as she turned back to face her, " 'Something else'?" she rejoined.
Sola stared hard into Padm's chestnut eyes, trying to break through her sibling's solid outer shell; "Is it to do with Anakin? That boy who you swore was 'just a friend'?" She smiled benignly, trying to cheer her sister with her typical teasing ways.
"No," Padmé assured her, saying no more; to be truthful, she missed Anakin and wished that he were here now. She hoped that he was okay; she hadn't seen him since the Geonosian conflicts, and he'd left those without an arm, thanks to –
"Count Dooku?"
Padmé jumped; "Sorry?" she asked her sister hastily.
"Count Dooku, I said - do you have any issues with him?"
Padmé went pale all of a sudden, her mouth slightly agape.
"I mean, concerning how you each view things and stuff, of course," Sola continued lightly, "I know that he's definitely not a contender for the 'potential boyfriend', not like that charming young Anakin…"
Her sister had only been jesting, and Padmé knew it, but she nevertheless felt like she'd just been clubbed in the heart by a savage jest; "That's not funny, Sola," she said sternly, her voice bitter.
Sola's face fell numb in shock, completely taken unawares by Padm's sour response; "I'm sorry," she murmured cautiously, "I didn't mean to offend you – I was only joking."
Padmé exhaled loudly again, running her hand back over her head, "No, I'm sorry…" she whispered, now feeling incredibly guilty for the way she'd acted, "Perhaps you'd just better go…"
"No, let's just talk for a –"
"Please, Sola… I'm not in the mood for talking right now. I'll be okay."
Sola silently regarded her younger sister for a moment longer, before nodding to herself, respecting her decision; "Okay… take care." She squeezed Padm's hand gently in an affectionate gesture, before she turned and left the room, giving her sister the solitude that she'd requested.
Feeling a further pang of guilt at how she'd treated her sister now that she'd gone, Padmé paused for a long time – her emotions were all over the place, and she didn't know how to control them. Sighing another time, she opened her suitcase and pulled out her nightgown, before slipping off her shoes and quickly pacing over to the bathroom to get ready for bed, the evening outside drawing well into its latest hours.
She was completely submerged within her own thoughts as she walked into the dark 'fresher room, guilt prodding at her like an irritating classmate in the back; she went into something of a blind, numb reverie, mechanically locking the door to the room, before she dropped her nightgown and pulled the cord to the light switch, which flickered on slowly overhead. Subsequently pacing to the sink, she clamped her hands about the rim, almost as though to steady herself - her head was starting to feel light and was swirling with shame - and it was then that she suddenly became aware that her grip on the sink felt rather odd, even somewhat 'gelatinous'… She frowned, slowly coming back to herself, and looked down, before gasping and tearing her hands from the basin - scarlet blood oozed around the edges and pooled at the plughole. Instantly, that dreadful, knowing feeling hit her, and she glanced at her reflection in the mirror above. Her eyes met with the Count's, which stared straight back at her via the glass.
She wheeled around, clinging to the sink behind her, and stared at him, beginning to wonder why this kind of thing shocked her anymore, "What in the Force's name are you doing here?" she hissed.
He cocked his eyebrow, as per usual, and gestured to his hand. She followed his signal, and looked to it - it was gashed across the palm and bleeding rather badly. Blood dripped down onto the shower floor whilst he sat on a unit by its side.
"Oh…" was all Padmé could muster in a faint whisper.
His eyes continued to bear into her, until he shifted a little in his seat, and said, " 'Not a contender for the 'potential boyfriend' ," mimicking Sola coldly.
Padm's gaze tightened for a moment as she beheld him; her hands were going white under the strain of her clutch on the washbasin, her bones beginning to bear through her pale skin.
"Your sister's ridicule tells me that you haven't courted many…" Dooku added, keeping his eyes on the young Nubian
"What business is that of yours?" she growled, trembling with rage.
He shrugged, a carelessness and even slight bitterness in his poise, "I am but curious, madam."
She swallowed again, unable to draw her eyes away from his magnetic gaze.
"Are you of the 'love and politics don't mix' variety?" he continued, leaning toward her, his unwounded hand slung across his knee.
She sighed, having had this conversation too many times with her parents - and even more so with her sister - before; "Don't lecture me on 'love and politics'," she said quietly.
"I wasn't going to," he riposted, "I just gathered that, if boyfriends of yours have been as scarce as your sister's tone suggests, you put your career before your own well-being."
"Look," she snapped firmly, swinging her hand toward him, stained with the blood from the sink, "My private life has nothing to do with you, and you have absolutely no right to pry into it!"
He cocked his eyebrow again, seeming to enjoy this chastisement. This only enraged Padmé further; "Why are you here, anyway? You have your own 'fresher room…" she snarled, "I'm beginning to think that you're some kind of pervert…"
Serenn snickered as though she had just told a very funny joke, "Oh, Padmé, do you really think that I often go out of my way to plague the bathrooms and inner sanctums of virginal women?"
She gave him a stinging stare, "You seem to take the trouble of 'plaguing' my personal spaces all too often…"
"Oh, take it as a compliment – I can't help it if I find you attractive," he smirked; but then, as he lowered his tone, a sudden shadow loomed over his brow; "Besides…" he added, "You're not of that 'variety' of women anymore, are you?"
She felt her stomach somersault; "Of what variety?" she whispered.
His smile broadened into a leer, "Of that I just mentioned," he purred, his eyes dark and brooding.
She shuddered, a shiver running mercilessly through her body. Closing her eyes, she turned about to lean over the sink, and felt her head go light and cloudy again, and, for a moment, she wasn't sure whether she was going to remain conscious or not; his words had torn open that barely healed wound of dubiousness that inundated her faint memories of the first night she'd spent in his manor.
"I am being honest, my lady," the Count continued, "You are a most appealing young woman."
She opened her eyes again and stared numbly at the blood in the basin; "Don't talk to me like that," she snapped, turning back to glare upon him once more, her eyes ravaged with fury and distress, "You're an old man."
"Oh, your skills of observation are astounding, my lady!" he mocked her.
"Stop it!" she yelled, "Why can't you leave me alone?"
"You are alone," he ascertained grimly, "Very alone."
Padmé sighed again, and changed the subject; "I ask you again, what are you doing here?" she said softly.
He made a slight gesture with his bleeding hand, "I wanted to show you this."
She cringed, leaning away from him as best she could, "Get that away from me…"
"I had – how should I put this?" he continued regardless, "A little incident…"
"Looks more like an 'accident'," Padmé murmured, swallowing as she looked at his hand for a second time.
"It was a 'gift' from your true 'potential boyfriend'," he went on.
Padmé paused, her breath jarring in her throat, "Anakin?" she breathed.
"Yes, Anakin…" he nodded, "And he didn't just give me this, the generous boy…I've got knocks, cuts and burns all over the place. I don't think my jaw is broken, but it aches, I tell you now…and the boy almost succeeded in castrating me, which I wasn't too pleased about…"
Padmé would have laughed, but it seemed to signify too much to her; "I wish he had… Oh, Force, he must know! He must! That's why he did it…"
" 'Know'?"
"Where is he?"
Serenn shrugged, "Security have him - I wouldn't be surprised if he was sent off-planet as quickly as he has come… He's been a naughty boy since you last saw him, you know."
"Oh, poor Anakin!" Padmé went on hysterically, "He must know… He surely wouldn't risk coming otherwise…"
"Know what?" Dooku queried, rising to his feet.
"Oh, you know!" she sighed; she pushed passed him, sick of the sight of his dripping hand, and opened the unit on which he had sat, pulling a roll of bandage from it, and shoving it into his hand, "And get that blasted thing covered up…" she growled.
He took the roll from her but grasped her hand along with it, and studied the drying blood on her palm, the blood that she'd picked up from the sink - his blood. He began to caress her palm, running lazy circles round it lovingly.
She watched him, almost entranced, the motion soothing her, "Stop that," she murmured, determined not to let her guard down.
"Why?"
"You're still bleeding… I don't want your blood all over me."
He dropped the bandage roll onto the floor, and tipped her head up with his unwounded hand, keeping a gentle hold of her palm in the other; "But you're already covered in my blood. What does it matter?" There was a fire in his eyes again and a sensual ardour in his silky voice; it made Padmé shudder.
"That doesn't mean that I want more of it," she replied quietly, her voice a drowned whisper.
Their eyes locked, a poignant friction hovering between them, one that only intensified when Dooku chose to step closer to her and vanquish what little space there had been left between them.
She studied his face carefully, now noticing the beginnings of a bruise emerging on his cheek – another of the new 'gifts' he had received from Anakin, she thought. This gave her a little confidence, to know that Ani had given the old, former Jedi a 'whack', and the corner of her lip trembled, almost becoming a weak smile; she tried to conceal her mirth.
"I don't know what you think is so amusing," Dooku suddenly went on, his tone light yet underpinned with intimidation, "Our fight was not a pleasant one."
Padm's face went sombre suddenly as the thought of Anakin, covered in his own cuts, bruises and abrasions, filled her mind.
"Yes. Feel sorry for the foolish Padawan… he needs the sympathy."
"He knows what you've done to me - he knows about us," she whispered, "He won't stop until he's saved me…"
Serenn's eyes burned even darker with that passionate flame that Padmé knew all too well; " 'Us'?" he smirked impishly, "You flatter me, my dear. I had no notion that we were an item."
"Don't play fool with me!" she rejoined, tugging her hand hard in an attempt to tear it from his grasp; he did not yield, however. "What did he say?" she went on in a low tenor, "Did he say anything?"
The Count stared at her hard, tightening his clutch on her petite, little hand, and carefully studied her visage – he could see how truly frightened she was, her eyes glossy with anxiety, with her free hand hovering nervously about her belly; "Anakin didn't call me a criminal or even a traitor," he replied evenly, "In fact, I don't believe that he cares much for the war anymore, so much is he obsessed with you. He did threaten me, however; I was told not to lay a finger on you again at the risk of my own life." He allowed himself a callous smile and chuckled at that, "A bit of a comedian, isn't he?"
"He knows that you can't keep your filthy hands off me," Padmé growled.
Serenn just looked at her, the inferno burning stronger in his gaze; Padmé knew now that she'd had enough of his terrorization; "Let go of me," she ordered in as civil a manner as she could muster, trying not to further aggravate things.
He still didn't release her.
She looked at him angrily, desperation beginning to gnaw at her innards, "I said LET GO!!" she cried, trying frantically to once more yank her hand from his; still, his grip remained, and he tugged her back to him, before hurling her to his right and over into the shower unit, his lip twitching.
Padmé went tumbling into the cubicle, tripping over the rim of its glass door before she hurtled awkwardly into the tiled wall, yelping as she landed hard on her arm, which jarred beneath her. She pulled it into the hold of her other hand, watching as Serenn's fresh blood trickled from the palm he'd so gently massaged. Her feet were now, too, tinged with his scarlet fluid, from where she'd stepped through the puddle of blood at the unit's base…
She swallowed hard, the atmosphere becoming ever tighter as the Count pursued her into the shower, pacing right up to her and grasping her chin with his bloodied palm, jerking it up to face him; "Behave young lady," he hissed, his tone infused with menace, "You know that I can't abide vain strugglers…"
"Then tell me straight what you've done to me!" she growled, eyeing him fiercely, feeling her body fill with a rush of ill-omened iciness, "I can't bear this 'not knowing'!"
He slowly smiled, pressing his body against hers, and trapped her between himself and the wall, before he put his bleeding hand to her cheek and gently drew it down her neck, running it under the rim of her dress until he reached the curve of her shoulder. Padmé glanced to her uncovered shoulder, seeing a trail of crimson left in the wake of Serenn's wounded hand, before her gaze darted back to him again, her breathing rising to an uncontrollable rate. Alarm bells began to ring in her ears.
"I think you know," he purred to her huskily, a dire fulfilment permeating his voice as he rubbed his nose over hers gently. He then lowered his head to her neck and tenderly kissed her throat.
Padmé exhaled in horror, the combination of this certainty - of knowing what had happened between them - now sinking in, and combining with the terrible, chilly sensation of his lips against her throat, caressing her with a shameless devotion. She closed her eyes, her mind frantic to flee the situation whilst her skin welcomed his ardent touch, creating a terrible conflict within her…
"Padmé, you like it really…"
Memories of what had so recently transpired between them rushed back to taunt her, memories that now seemed to be all but confirmed as factual; with a moan, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, trying to force back the conception of being drawn to him by his hypnotic voice, of being coaxed into believing that she wanted him, of being made to believe that he was someone else…made to believe that he was Anakin; the thought of knowing that she had already played her body against his made her desperate to get away, and made her feel truly sick.
She prepared to raise her hands to push him off, but he seemed to foresee her attempt, and lowered both his hands to pin hers against the wall. She whimpered in fear as he continued to pepper her neck with kisses, tender yet aggressive. Blood trickled down the walls below from his bleeding grip on her wrist, running around the cracks and ridges of the tiles before seeping down to the shower floor. Padmé felt the heat of him strong against her, his powerfully built pectorals rubbing against her breast, the pulsation of his heart pounding into her torso. She wriggled about beneath him, trying to gain some form of freedom, but her movements only brought her into closer, unwanted contact with the Count.
He groaned into her, pulling his mouth away from her neck and looking deeply into her eyes, studying the fear and the vile stimulation that he'd incited within her.
She swallowed, looking at him with silent entreaties of mercy; "Stop it, please," she gasped, trying once more to writhe out of his hold, but again only managing to chafe her body against his. His eyes were so intense and compelling, almost relaxing, the calm of the storm that he was; he was making no attempt to control her, and no move to utilise his crude Force abilities to lure her to him under a false sense of security. He wanted to play the game the hard way.
Padmé panted in panic, looking back down to her naked shoulder where his hand had been, now painted with scarlet blood; it seemed to her to be some kind of crude mark left by him, representing his ownership of her.
"Blood isn't becoming, is it?" he whispered calmly, noticing her study her blood-spattered shoulder; "Shall we wash it off?"
She turned back to him, swallowing down the ever-growing lump of unease in her throat, whilst, without breaking their stare, the Count willed the tap on the wall to turn, sending a sudden cold shower of water over them both. The coldness of it was a shock to Padm's system, and made her jump sharply, whilst some of the blood on her skin began to gradually trickle away. Her hair began to hang in wet clumps over her head, and, quickly, both her and Dooku's clothes became waterlogged, tightening to the forms of their bodies.
"Let me go!!" she asked desperately, gathering her strengths and writhing with every ounce of energy that she still possessed. Her struggle this time proved quite a test for the Count to control; he knitted his teeth together, clutching her wrists so tight that it pained the young Nubian, before pushing her fast against the wall, his muscles tensing as he withstood her efforts; "Calm down!" he barked. She didn't; she only became more agitated, wriggling all over the place, whimpering at the futility of her exertions, so fraught was she to be free. Her feet couldn't find ground on the ever-more slippery shower base, and she began to become only the more hysterical… She soon reached such a level of desperation, in fact, that she couldn't take it anymore; and desperate times called for desperate measures; "Get OFF me!" she cried, hammering one of her knees up rapidly into Serenn's crotch.
Serenn barked in pain, doubling over before her; "Shit!" he yelled, his eyes growing livid as he spun back onto Padmé, managing to keep at least one firm clasp on her wrist. She tried to pull free whilst he was down, but even a knock in the groin hadn't seemed to be enough to faze him and give her the chance to escape. With a wrathful yell, he straightened up and pushed her hard into the wall once more; she cried as her head smacked in reflex against the solid tiles, stunning her once again and making her feel increasingly dizzy. With her energies all but depleted from her last struggle, she could put up a resistance no longer. He leant remorselessly into her, driving her tight into the wall, and - pinning her arms down by her sides again - lunged at her shoulder with his mouth, kissing her smooth skin fiercely with savage nips and bites.
She cried, sliding down a little against the shiny, frictionless tiles as the pressure bore down on her. The water continued to lash about them, running down both her head and his, and tunnelling through their damp, hanging locks of hair. "Stop it!" she shrieked, trying to bring her hands up off the wall to resist him, "You're hurting me!!" She didn't understand what ignited such ferocity in him, such animalistic lust… Serenn seemed to be enthused by the need to possess her; he had done all in his power to make her his, and was fully aware that he had succeeded in his quest. It was as if he, like Anakin, struggled with overwhelming inner demons…
Anakin…
As Dooku's lips burned into her, memories of Anakin suddenly came flooding back to Padmé…the most terrifying memories:
'You're not all powerful, Ani.'
'Well, I should be! Some day I will be. I will be the most powerful Jedi ever! I promise you. I will even learn to stop people from dying!'
From that upsetting day…
'I killed them… I killed them all! They're dead, every single one of them. And not just the men, but the women and the children, too. They're like animals, and I slaughtered them like animals! I hate them!'
Why was she even thinking about Anakin now? What had Anakin to do with Serenn? Were their inner struggles the same? Was Anakin becoming a reflection of the Count, or vice versa?
No, surely not…
"Argh!" she cried out, feeling Serenn's teeth bite hard into her shoulder, his internal struggles being ruthlessly taken out on her; she felt her skin become tender and sore, until she knew that it had broken all together. Having finished there, the Count worked on down her shoulder, his kisses becoming ever the more impassioned and vehement, filled with such a mad heat that Padmé feared they might sear her.
"Why are you doing this?" she wailed, her bursting tears merging ineffectively with the thundering shower about them; his eyes were terrifying, holding the same overwhelming mixture of love, lust and possession that had been present from the moment he had made his first unholy move on her chastity.
Dooku subsequently pulled up from Padm's skin and studied her face again, seeing the tears begin to fall from her eyes, and noticing how she flinched in pain as the cold water ruthlessly invaded the broken skin on her shoulder. Recovering his breath, he looked hard at his handiwork, seeing blood begin to emerge from the wound he had wrought, and Padmé could only watch in horror as he lowered his head back to her skin, tugging the rim of her dress down further from her wound, before he captured the first bead of blood to trickle from the lesion on his tongue. She whimpered helplessly, turning away in shock as he ran his tongue back up to her wound, over her skin, consuming her blood in one feral motion.
"Dooku, please!" she screamed.
He kissed her wound fervently as he reached it, before slowly drawing his lips away. Padmé herself took deep breaths now, her chest rising and falling against his. Warily, she turned back to face him, only to be swiftly devoured by him in another unanticipated kiss, his tongue forcing her lips apart and devouring her. She could taste the salty remnants of her own blood in his mouth, and flinched in disgust, moaning as she tried to pry her mouth from his.
He released her arms, sliding his hands onto her waist, knowing that he was now in complete control. Padmé swiftly raised her hands to clutch at his sodden, black tunic, trying to stifle her groan of irrepressible arousal as he continued to sensually plague her mouth, his hands rubbing her hips gently in an affectionate and loving motion. He returned her groan, becoming equally stimulated. Then, suddenly, Padmé gasped, realising that things had gone too far, knowing that it wasn't Serenn's 'sabre hilt pressing into her thigh. With as much will as she could muster, she gently pushed him away from her, placing her hands flat out on his chest, and urging him to back off in as agreeable a way as possible. He steadily drew his mouth from hers, breathing onto her with a burning exhilaration, though was suddenly somewhat subdued, as though some of Padm's anxiety had rubbed off on him.
The shower continued to flow, the water pattering about them as it burst forth from the nozzle above. They looked at each other hard in the ensuing silence, their eyes searching the other's.
"Enough, Serenn…" Padmé uttered quietly, giving him an earnest look.
He swallowed, inhaling deeply, his eyes telling that he had calmed a little – the mere fact that she was calling him by his first name meant something to him, for she had never endeavoured to use it before – and for that one moment, something passed between them – Padmé didn't know what it was, but they had, for the first time, an understanding; it was strange, and Padmé couldn't explain it.
Serenn raised his hands to her shoulders and rubbed them both once gently; she closed her eyes, feeling the heat of his body still intense against her whilst relief filtered through her – she knew that she was safe.
He stared at her for a long time, a period that Padmé lost complete track of, unsure of whether it was mere seconds or several minutes; he ran his uninjured hand through the wet tresses of her hair, before he slid it over the fresh wound on her shoulder; she hissed as he aggravated the sore flesh, opening her eyes upon him once again.
She urged him to move away from her with her hands, before looking down warily, wanting to just be alone, "Serenn…please…I think you'd just better go," she asked him anxiously, her fears and doubts having been all but confirmed in her eyes.
They paused like that for a few more seconds, the water still rolling round them, before Dooku nodded discreetly to himself, making his decision. He stroked her uncovered, wounded shoulder one last time before turning away from her, releasing her from the trap between his body and the wall, and stepping out of the shower unit, pulling a towel into his grasp. He then threw off his shirt and rubbed himself dry all over, water flicking out from his hair and dripping down his drenched trousers to the floor. Padmé, meanwhile, exhaled heavily, her mind still throbbing from her knock against the wall. She held out her hand to turn off the tap, and realised how much she was shaking; she was in a complete state of trauma.
Quickly winding the tap off, she went on to hastily pull her dress back up over her wounded shoulder, wanting to keep herself as covered as possible, before she stared out at Serenn and watched him finish to give himself a brief dry off.
The Count turned back to her once he was both dryer and calmer, and chucked his towel to her, followed by the nightgown she'd earlier dropped onto the floor. She caught them both, and continued to stare at him warily, refusing to come out of the cubicle until he had gone. He watched her for another moment before picking up the bandage roll from the floor and wrapping it tightly about his hand; Padmé could see, now that his chest was naked, that he had several fresh wounds laced over his arms and his body, many seeming to be from lightsabre combat. Again.
"I doubt that Anakin will want you back," he went on plainly, flexing out his hand once it was swathed in the binding; "You've already been soiled…by me."
He gave her a nod of farewell, as curt as it was, before he unlocked the door and made a swift, unruffled exit; you'd think everything were normal if his trousers and boots weren't squelching with water.
Watching him go, Padmé continued to breathe hard, unable to comprehend everything that had just happened. She was even more confused as to why it had occurred.
Steadily, she stepped out of the shower, and made her way to the mirror over the bloodstained sink; she looked at her reflection in it, pulling down the material of her dress to look at her wound. As she gazed hard at the bruised and broken skin there, she bit her lip – if this was how Serenn showed his 'affection', it didn't half hurt. She ran a finger timorously over it, her breaths shuddering with melancholy, the skin stinging at the slightest pressure; she'd have to keep that covered up, or risk awkward questions from people…
Gently covering up the wound, she sank down despondently on the floor, finally knowing for sure that Serenn had certainly left his mark on her…
TBC...