Sometimes, he felt small tugs on his fingers. Others, he could still smell her scent. He could lose himself in the past and imagine a future that included her and their child. Then he always remembered.

He'd killed the sole reason for his existence, taken their child away from any chance of holding their hands, running by the lake, growing up.

Then he only had what he'd become. Padmé's way had failed. In some warped way, he felt if he proved his way was right, it would make sense.

The fantasies of a family were left in dreams and nightmares.