🙆
HER SILHOUETTE IS sky-worthy, something meant to be illustrated alongside constellations. Anakin can imagine cutting her out of the clouds with a finger, tracing the soft curvature of her smile on the stars’ needle-sharp points. She is shining, resplendent, the very thing he’s fought && killed for, ( && will keep killing for ) && when she touches him like this Anakin swears he’s reached some kind of absolution.
Anakin will be the first to admit he has certain softness for having his hair done.
❝ What are you doing back there? ❞ Anakin attempts a peek over his shoulder, but is quickly shunned away && straightened in front of Padme’s boudoir. He loves it when she does his hair, but can’t stand sitting still for as long as it takes to for her to finish the intricate sets of braids she favors.
Anakin feels the end of something sharp scrape against his scalp. ❝ Are you using pins?! ❞ This time he does jerk forward, escaping her fingers’ hold to stare down at the pile of golden hairpins she cradles in one palm. ❝ I thought you said no accessories. ❞ She laughs, && he can’t help but laugh with her.
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