You're a powerful political figure for the planet of Baleine and a strong ally of the First Order. Your relationship with Kylo Ren has formed into a martial alliance out of mutual respect and the demand of Supreme Leader Snoke.
Your affiliation with...
You couldn't feel much at first. You were very numb. But you knew Kylo's mouth was tracing along your cheek when you felt it.
The cramps.
You tried to ignore it. Pregnancy was fluid and symptoms weren't uniform. Nyx (who also served as your current midwife) told you that cramps were normal and that even slight traces of blood were perfectly fine. But you knew something was wrong.
Something was very wrong.
You tore yourself away from Kylo's mouth. He sensed it immediately. He gripped your waist, as you became a bit limp in his arms. Your body slid slightly down the wall, your hands pressing against your belly. You began to mumble incoherent sentences and jumbled words - your breath became rapid and your heart began to flutter.
No. No. No.
You reached for him - your husband. You gaped his name but it didn't form. Your eyes tightened and your back began to ache as though someone had just stoned you. You bent over in a fetal position, rocking back and forth. It was a natural reaction to unzip your pants. And when you sat up on your knees you saw it.
The blood.
"No, no!" Your throat was burning against your scream. "No!"
You began to frantically clean yourself, wiping the blood on your pants - if you could get rid of it, you thought, then it was fantasy. This wasn't happening. You continued to dry-heave, yelling the same word over and over again: "No, no, no!"
Kylo didn't even think. He picked you up and threw you into his arms. The blood stained his cloak. His child. Your child.
"No, please!" you beat against his shoulders. "Kylo, do something! For the love of Kriff!"
You hadn't even noticed that you were already half-way to the ship. It had been a twenty minute walk, but Kylo was sprinting across the landscape of Mustafar, his rapid breathing mixing with yours. You were sobbing against his chest, blood stained hands clenching his biceps.
He remained silent while taking you up the ship's ramp.
The ghost of Padme was suddenly very silent.
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They were whispering as though you couldn't hear them from behind the curtain.
The word "miscarriage" had been uttered at least five times. And each time it was said, you cringed. The thin fabric separating yourself and the medics did not conceal their shadowy figures. Your eyes traced along the ridges of the ceiling, your teeth clenched. You had been drifting in and out of sleep for hours, convinced that the medication numbed everything but the emptiness of your abdomen.
