She appears to him less like the esteemed Duchess, draped in silks and jewels, and more like the fiery young woman on the run he first fell in love with. Her hair is greasy and untidy, her once fine clothes worn, and whatever make-up she might have been wearing has long since been washed away by sweat and tears.
Still, she looks as beautiful as the day he met her, as radiant as she did on the day they had first parted and as breath-taking as she did the day they met again.
She fidgets with the brim of her tunic, pulling at the loose threads. Obi-Wan wishes nothing more than to embrace her and wrap her in his warm woollen Jedi robes.
"You can say it, you know," she mutters, and turns away from him, the tiniest edge in her voice, but it is stunted by her obvious frailty.
"Say what?"
"How bad I look."
That makes Obi-Wan halt. Does she really think that little of him? He steps closer to her, reaching out with his hand to brush a flyway strand of hair aside.
"Satine, I must tell you: You look as beautiful as when we first met."
The words make her face flush, and the smallest giggle bubbles out of her, even though she rolls her as eyes as she bats his hand away.
"Stop it, you flirt. You are just saying that to flatter me."
He smiles at her. It gladdens him to see her in higher spirits. Force knows she needs all the joy she can get.
The elevator doors slide open and a red-armoured guard awaits them.