Liara has always been a finicky sleeper. A perpetual war between being warm and cool, tense and relaxed, alone and with others. As a child Liara would often start the night with her mother, curled up happily against her bare chest having been told stories and sung songs until she'd drooped with exhaustion. Within a few hours she would toss and turn fitfully and eventually awaken with a need to sleep alone. When she was very young this was often translated as waking up and crying as Benezia soothed her and got her to her own space. It was so regular that the matriarch had started to work and plan around her daughter's panic and restlessness, and eventually designated a small room near her own for Liara's personal use. Liara, for her part, had been embarrassed and ashamed, and eternally grateful that her mother understood. As she grew older she would still start with Benezia and eventually wake to simply walk down the hallway to her own room. When she was truly no longer a child, Liara began to sleep in her own room alone for the whole night through. Now on her own, and having been for years, Liara struggled still with sleep. Tossing and turning, finding herself tangled in the sheets one moment and then finding the sheets chucked half way across the room the next. Illusive, was the word for it. How do people actually sleep for a solid six hours, she would wonder. Up and down every one or two— even when ill, even when exhausted. Liara had marveled at her dorm mates at Serrice University as they seemed unconcerned and slept soundly.
All these years later, all this time gone, and Liara found that the most comforting thing at night was to remember her mother softly singing, the warmth of her body, the scent of her perfume. Even if she was doomed to wake up a scant few hours later to readjust and fight to sleep again, the memories soothed.