A violent torment ravaged the mind of the poor stricken pureblood once more. An almost daily occurrence of bitter days past, breaching her subconscious like a kaleidoscope of ruin. Drawn awake by the malignant terrors, sweat beads pooled at her brow and linen strewn apart without remorse. Chest pounding as her body felt the soft brush of life and death, cursed to relive her worst days daily. Another one.
By reflex, she reached out to summon her knife with the force, only to be disappointed with its disobedience to her command. The realisation, each day, set in of her predicament and position. Another reminder of her inadequacy, of failure.
Pulling herself up, Nevi calmly placed a hand on her ever-growing abdomen as her heart rate began falling back to normal levels. She didn't want to imagine if the stress she was going through was detrimental to the baby, the tiny little sprogget was already going to have to deal with so much. Its very life hangs in the balance, and she knew that there was limited time to properly prepare herself to care for it.
Glancing out across the tiny one-bedroom apartment in the middle of nowhere, a small crib partially assembled lay in wait. A few months ago, it would have been done in an instant with a flick of her hand, a testament to the former Sith Master's prowess with the force. Why now had she struggled to put it together? The reason demanded in her mind was simply that the baby was months away.
But the reality was the traumatic attachment borne of her blood and soul torn out had driven home her biggest fear. Staring at the small wooden object was both a pivot between her driving motherly force and a deep, lingering, unnerving worry that it could be permanent.
That she was permanently damaged.
Reaching out to the crib with a faux grip of reality, she willed with every fibre of her being for it to move, to no avail. Every second that passed drew more and more desperation, until her arm simply fell from exhaustion. Another failure befitting her name, a reminder of why she was here.
"Everything I do, I do for you, my son." She sighed.
By reflex, she reached out to summon her knife with the force, only to be disappointed with its disobedience to her command. The realisation, each day, set in of her predicament and position. Another reminder of her inadequacy, of failure.
Pulling herself up, Nevi calmly placed a hand on her ever-growing abdomen as her heart rate began falling back to normal levels. She didn't want to imagine if the stress she was going through was detrimental to the baby, the tiny little sprogget was already going to have to deal with so much. Its very life hangs in the balance, and she knew that there was limited time to properly prepare herself to care for it.
Glancing out across the tiny one-bedroom apartment in the middle of nowhere, a small crib partially assembled lay in wait. A few months ago, it would have been done in an instant with a flick of her hand, a testament to the former Sith Master's prowess with the force. Why now had she struggled to put it together? The reason demanded in her mind was simply that the baby was months away.
But the reality was the traumatic attachment borne of her blood and soul torn out had driven home her biggest fear. Staring at the small wooden object was both a pivot between her driving motherly force and a deep, lingering, unnerving worry that it could be permanent.
That she was permanently damaged.
Reaching out to the crib with a faux grip of reality, she willed with every fibre of her being for it to move, to no avail. Every second that passed drew more and more desperation, until her arm simply fell from exhaustion. Another failure befitting her name, a reminder of why she was here.
"Everything I do, I do for you, my son." She sighed.