Luke Skywalker, Grand Master of the New Jedi Order, had a bad habit of biting his lower lip. It was a nervous tic he'd picked up over the years since he left his home on Tatooine.

He could feel the familiar warmth and metallic taste of blood filling his mouth, but at that moment he couldn't care less. Because, in this moment, all he felt was empty. Lonely. Cold. Like his still-beating heart had been ripped straight out of his chest and thrown onto the floor.

He was in a place he'd never thought he'd be, preparing himself to do the unimaginable.

His beautiful Mara Jade– his life, his light, his rock, the mother of his child – was dead and there was nothing anyone could do to bring her back. Never again would her emerald eyes meet his. Never again would he hear her voice, or her laugh. Never again would he be able to run his fingers through her thick red hair, taking in the scent of her shampoo, listening to her hum contentedly as she closed her eyes and fell asleep. She had been his everything, and now she was gone forever.

The Jedi and other Coruscanti dignitaries were waiting outside the atrium for the funeral service to begin. Saba had taken their young son Ben to another room with her while she practiced her eulogy. And in this moment, no one dared intrude on the grieving widower's final few moments alone with his wife. However, Luke knew his time with her was short, and this was one particular hourglass that was super-glued to the table.

He stood next to the pyre where her uncharacteristically still body lay wrapped in a white shroud, selfishly hoping she'd wake up, ask him what time it was and chide him for letting her sleep in so late. Unlike Ben Kenobi, or Yoda, she didn't disappear into the Force after she died. Her life was gone, but her physical form was still there.

"Hey, sweetheart," Luke whispered to her, wiping the tears from his cerulean eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm glad you stuck around. I'm glad you...let me say goodbye."

He rested his left hand on her ice-cold cheek – making sure any last chance he had to touch her was organic – and shuddered as a loud, heaving sob suddenly left his body. Luke didn't even bother putting up a shield. He was sure that, in this moment, every Force-sensitive being in the building felt his agony. And he didn't care. This wasn't right. None of this was right.

Her hair's not that straight.

That lipstick is the wrong shade of red.

Why the hell did they put lip liner on her? She never even kriffing owned lip liner.

That makeup is too dark.

Did these people even know Mara, for kriff's sake?

She's so...cold.

It doesn't smell like her.

It's not her.

It's not Mara.

It's. Not. Mara.

Luke's mind went to an old holofilm he'd watched as a small child, curled up half asleep in his Aunt Beru's lap, holding a toy X-Wing while she rubbed his back. Some film about a fish finding his way in a deep, wide expanse of water – more than the nephew of a Tatooine moisture farmer ever thought existed in the entire galaxy, let alone in one place.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…

He longed for the simplicity of those days, days when he wasn't angry and sad and hurt all at the same time and all he needed to worry about was going to Anchorhead with his friends in his brand new speeder, and...

In this moment, more than anything, he wanted her ethereal form to come up beside him, to tell him that it was all going to be all right, to offer some snippy comment or roll her eyes and call him 'Farmboy' or 'Skywalker' or something, to tell him to be strong for their son. Something. Anything. But when he reached out to her through the Force, he got nothing in return.

"Mara, please. I..."

Luke jumped a bit as Saba opened one of the side doors that led from the back room where she and Ben had stayed to the main altar. He quickly rubbed his red, swollen eyes with his hands, wiping away the errant tears that had escaped, and took a deep, shaking breath.

"Masssster Sssskywalker? It'ssss time."

He nodded, swallowing hard.

Saba opened the door, making her way up to the podium as Ben followed her and took his place next to Luke. The doors to the atrium opened and, with them, hundreds of Jedi and dignitaries shuffling through and crowding the once-empty pews. Whoever couldn't find a seat stood in the rafters or along the back wall. In the middle of it all was the pyre. Behind it stood Luke and Ben. Ben was angry, his rage touching every Force user in the room. Luke stood still as stone beside him, hand on his shoulder, staring at the body lying on the pyre, not even noticing the hundreds of pairs of eyes on him or the speech Saba had prepared. In his other, artificial hand, he held the torch he'd soon use to light the pyre and...burn...her body.

He bit his lower lip hard, drawing blood once again, not even bothering to hide the tears that flowed from his eyes. Luke wanted to jump on the pyre in front of the gods and everyone else, to join Mara as she burned, to not have to live another day without her. His life, his heart, his soul.

Don't even think about it, Farmboy, a familiar voice echoed in his head. Remember me. Remember our love. Keep going. For Ben.

Her last words echoed through the air and, in the heat of the moment, Luke could have sworn he felt a familiar touch on the small of his back. He didn't dare look back, but he knew that touch anywhere.

"Mara," he croaked, his stomach clenching as he said the word.

And, in this moment, she disappeared.