PROLOGUE

Every day is the same. Wake, wash, eat, run errands and sleep. Rinse and repeat. Life is all about going through the motions now, for the sake of my family. Each morning at eight, my mother knocks on the door, announcing herself before entering my darkened bedroom and I'm sitting here, staring at the mirror trying to find a reason to do my hair. To be honest, I don't know whether she expects me to change or if hidden behind that warm smile is some deep-seeded fear that one day I won't wake up.

They are all I have left now. Mum, Dad, Sola and her family. And I suppose then there is Sabè, one of my dearest handmaidens. Every morning, at first light, she goes to my mausoleum to keep up the charade. Replacing the withered flowers that lay beside my empty sarcophagus. They had said it was best that I stayed hidden under the pretence of my death, due to my vocal discord at the Empire's birth. I don't understand why it would matter. The Empire has already taken everything that I cared about – what good am I to them now?

It is very kind of Sabè to stick around and look after me these past nine months. Not that I have been overly friendly, but she never complains. It actually pained me to force a smile when mum asked me too yesterday. She said it was for the sake of Pooja, my niece. Apparently having a sour looking aunty all the time dampened her spirits somewhat.

But what is there left to smile about? My soulmate had been brainwashed and manipulated to the point of no return, only for me to never see or hear from him again. It still aches, not knowing if he's actually alive or not. I don't think that will ever change. Our babies are gone and all I have left of him is the Japoor snippet weighing heavily around my neck. I don't even know if they survived. I hope so. But then again, if they did, where are they? More the point, who has them?

Obi-wan is gone too. I remember seeing him on my ship on Mustafar, and then I have these vague flashes of him in the operating theatre, holding my two precious miracles in front of my face. I remember naming them – Luke and Leia. I don't know if he's alive any more, either. I hope he made it out safe and is now hiding somewhere. Perhaps one day I'll see or hear from him again and I might actually find some sort of closure.

Nine months.

Two hundred and seventy four days of crying myself to sleep – and today marks the seventy fifth.

Every single morning I catch myself asking, why?

Nine long months spent hoping ... praying ... waiting for Anakin to miraculously turn up at the door begging for my forgiveness. But he never does. I know it's nothing but a fool's dream – if he were actually alive, he would've been here by now. I just know it.

It hurts just thinking his name, let alone saying it aloud. I haven't dared utter it since that night and I don't think I ever will. It's still far too painful. Much like the gaping void in my stomach.

Nine heart-breaking months knowing that somewhere ... out there amidst the glittering array of planets and star systems ... I might still have a son and daughter.

All I know is this. When I woke up in that transport, screaming for someone to notice that I was in-fact still alive ... I had suddenly lost ... everything.