Blinded By Love
By Serena Kenobi
Author's note: I know, I know, I haven't updated my other stories in ages. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten or abandoned them. They'll be updated shortly. But I've had the idea for this story for ages, and I finally decided to post it. Hope you enjoy! Reviews are appreciated.
Disclaimer: I've done this too many times. This is George's jungle. And Kudos to whoever invented that saying. It wasn't me. So I guess I don't own that either. Oh boy.
Must get her stabilized… pulse… weakening… losing her…
She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe.
She was burning.
Heart rate… rising… fast…
Her whole body was on fire. She was drowning in that fire. Her throat constricted – why couldn't she get air?
Oxygen levels… unstable… coming out… hibernation…
What was going on? Where was she? And why couldn't she do anything? She felt trapped. Smothered. The fire was smothering her… freezing her bones in an icy hot cage that she couldn't get out of.
We… wake her… too long … hibernation…
"Miss? Miss, can you hear me?"
She could. But she couldn't respond. She mentally screamed a reply, but it went unheard.
"Miss, don't worry. You must calm down so we can get your heart rate steady. Don't worry, everything's going to be all right. You just need to relax."
Relax… that would be hard, but if that was what she had to do, that was what she had to do. Breathe… in… out… in… out….steady…
"There you go… that's it. Good job." The voice that was directing her, a warm, living voice, felt close to her ear. "Keep it up. You're going to be fine."
She nodded slowly, painfully.
"It will take a few minutes for you to be able to move properly – you've been encased in carbonite for the past twenty-one years. You're actually lucky to have survived such a freezing process."
Carbonite? Freezing process? Why didn't she remember any of that? Okay, okay, calm down. She had to keep her breathing steady. What was the last thing that she remembered…
Fire. Death. Pain. Betrayal.
She set her teeth. There had to be something else. Something else after that… wait… yes, yes, there it was! She had been on a medical bed… there were droids hovering around her. She had heard a baby's cry – no, two babies.
Her babies! Her Luke – her Leia! Where were they? Were they all right? Wait, Obi-Wan. Yoda. What had happened to them? And why had she been in carbonite for twenty-one years?
Inwardly, her mind was reeling.
This was too much information. She couldn't handle it all, especially not after remembering…
Him. Her beloved. Her fallen angel. Her Anakin.
He had broken her heart, but she still loved him. She still needed him as the trees needed sunlight. As the earth needed rain.
She couldn't survive without him. She was tied to him – connected by some invisible bond that refused to snap, even after he had turned to the dark side. They were two halves of the same whole, two pieces that fit perfectly together in a puzzle, two people joined together as one.
"You can try moving now, Miss," the comforting voice said to her. "You should be able to move your body more easily now."
Forcing her unpleasant thoughts to the back of her mind, she focused on moving her body. First, she clenched and unclenched her fists. Then, she moved her toes, then feet, then her whole lower half. She slowly slid her arms up and down on the bed she was in.
"Good, that's good."
Finally, with a great effort, she lifted her eyelids up as she tried to open her eyes…
She blinked, twice. Unsteadily, she tried to focus on something, anything, but she couldn't. "What's… going… on?" Her voice was hoarse, so she swallowed and tried again. "What's going on?" Better.
A sigh was heard from above her. "It's typical for people who have just come out of carbonite to experience a thing called hibernation sickness. They're temporarily blind, but eventually, it returns."
"Oh, good. How long?"
There was a pause. "I'm afraid, in your case, you were in the carbonite for too long. I'm sorry to tell you this… but… your eyesight has been permanently damaged."
She froze. "You mean… I won't be able to see… ever?"
"I'm afraid so. They haven't discovered a treatment for your condition yet, as very few people are put into carbonite. I'm so sorry." The voice, however sympathetic it may have been, was little comfort to her.
The realization hit like a reek running full force into her body. She would never again be able to see Naboo. See the water. See anybody. She could never watch the sunsets or sunrises, never again see the amazing architecture on her home-planet. She would never see her family again – if they were still alive. She could never look at her children again, if they happened to meet.
She would never see Anakin again. If he was still alive.
"I can't see," Padmé said, deadpan. "I can't see."
Short, I know. But it's only the prologue.