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ANAKIN WAS THERE AGAIN. She was in his arms again; she was there. He could clearly see her, her and her arms wrapped around his neck, her and her steady breaths and soft smile brushing up against the nape of his neck. They were there, together again.
Souls interweaving, hearts bleeding, minds racing, hips swaying—he was there, and they were together. Everything was well. Everything was well—
In till Anakin woke up.
Anakin's eyes sprung open, searching the room for Elara, looking for her black, ebony locks he so desperately wanted to run his hands through again. But it was to no avail. She wasn't there. It had been a dream; another lie of Anakin's heart.
Anakin punched the stiff, comfortless bed the Jedi had given him ten years ago in a fit of anger; breaths quick and heart even quicker. You're a kriffing idiot, Anakin. You haven't seen her in three years, and you probably won't ever see her again. Anakin punched the bed again, eyes narrowing with hot, boiling anger.
Then, suddenly, he came back to his senses.
You're a Jedi, Anakin. You shouldn't feel like this. He tried to take a deep breath, but he seemed to only breath harder. There is no emotion, only peace. The words echoed like little knives piercing his head. There is no emotion, only peace.
"Anakin?"
Anakin was so focused on calming down that he hadn't even heard the door creak open.
"Anakin—what's going on?"
It was Zena Nallè, his best friend and one of the only things that have kept him from leaving the Jedi Order; other than Obi-Wan and his own ambition, of course. She was stood at the door, one hand rested on the knob and the other at her side, gazing worriedly at Anakin's stressed out state.
Anakin had to admit, even though he had absolutely no romantic feelings for Zena, (those feelings were only reserved for Elara.) she was beautiful. Zena had dark brown eyes, that had always seemed dull and tired—as though she was hiding something—brown skin that shined in the sunset's light, and dark brown hair that fell smoothly down her shoulders.
