AN: From the same lazy bum imagination that created Unfinished Tales, Part I (the HP version) comes a SW version, filled with bits and pieces of stories which I started but which – for some reason or other – were abandoned. So sit back, wear a smoking jacket and a bib, and enjoy.

Unfinished Tales, Part II

So gay a Flower
Bereaves the Mind
As if it were a Woe-
Is Beauty an Affliction- then?
Tradition ought to know-
Emily Dickinson

The Lovely Shall Be Losers

I've always wondered about the correlation between a person's name and their fate in life. Would bearing the noble nomenclature Apubabi brand you as a pacifistic homebody? Would calling your little son Han Solo Brandeis inspire the child to pursue a life of smuggling and heroism? For our names are not just a simple word our parents use to identify us from the five trillion other brown-haired, green-eyed babies in the galaxy. They contain a bit of our personalities, and perhaps even the key to our destinies.

So, how does that relate to me?

I believe that all the bad events in my life are a direct result of my mother's poor name choice. I have lived the past 30 years as Psyché Zezilia Nadeau, the only daughter of Naboo rock farmers. Apparently, Psyché means "soul" and Zezilia means "pretty grey eyes" in my family's native tongue, but I don't care. They may have beautiful meanings, but that doesn't stop the teasing and the odd looks at all. I remember the teachers, coming to my spot on the daily attendance record and snickering, or the prank comm calls from idiotic teenage boys stammering, "Psyché, are you psychotic? Or psycho? Do you want to become a psychoanalyst?"

It wasn't like my name carried family significance. No, Marcel and Yané Nadeau bestowed upon me this damning title because they wanted me to live a life of originality and uniqueness, with a carefree soul.

I think it was leftover guilt on my mother's part, for as a young girl she spent a staggering ten years as one of Padmé Amidala's handmaidens. She was chosen for her physical resemblance, combat skills, and ability to easily follow orders, not for the fact that she was the first Naboo woman to run the 100-meter dash in ten seconds. She wanted me to pick a career where I could just be me.

So I tried to do that. I left for Theed, moved in with my grandmother-or-something Naberrie, and took a job as a secretary at the Imperial office. I may have hated all the Empire stood for, but when money is tight any position starts to look good. I slaved away 60 hours a week typing memos and organizing different financial agreements, yet after taxes, taxes, and more taxes my weekly paycheck only held 150 credits.

I began to look for outside work, part-time things I could do on the side. Several people had mentioned that I bore an uncanny resemblance to Princess Leia Organa, so I searched for a job as an impersonator.

AN: Once I got this far, I realized that this story was revolving from a five page vignette about one of Leia's doubles – with parallels to Padmé's handmaidens – to a possibly massive action story about a woman searching for her true identity. I had too many longer WIPs that I was working on already, so I just put this story aside.