The Lady of Ren

Phantoms

You had been walking down the halls of the palace when you heard it – that ghostly laughter. This it truly was (ghostly) because the laugh was yours.

It was impossible, of course. The noise was coming from the direction of the throne room and you had just exited your bedroom. Your chest tautened with anxiety. All at once, a chorus of tittering arose throughout the halls. Goosebumps raised on your arms.

You knew the second voice – it transcended through time.

You found yourself rushing towards the phantoms, and when you slammed open the doors, you felt an intense amity.

The throne room was somewhat of a considerable greenhouse; there was ivy stretching along the brick walls and botanicals of all kinds. Lurid flowers with large petals fanned themselves against one another, ancient trees shading them with their massive leaves. In the center of the room was a pond, sprinkled with mosses and alive with feather-tailed fish.

It was then, when observing the room, that you saw him.

Your father.

He had been a handsome man – older than your mother by twenty years. Wisdom collected in his grey, aging eyes. The Force around him radiated something gorgeous, though he never showed sign of sensitivity. No matter – he was more brilliant than any Jedi master.

Kind King Calvin.

You watched the sight with vibrating hands. There you were, shy of ten years. Your fingers were skimming the surface of the water, giggling when a fish swam too close and grazed its tail against your fingers. Your father was relaxing next to you, his own hand stirring the mud of the pond and laughing as you did.

It took your breath away.

"Ambassador Ren," called a voice.

It'd frightened you – the scene before was too tranquil.

The voice belonged to Queen Sabyr. Had she not been dressed as she was, you'd have mistaken her for a maiden. She was so young – no lines of stress stamped upon her pale face. Her sleek, pearl locks of hair dusted her collarbones. You hadn't expected her to look so... serene.

"Your majesty," you greet her, bowing as much as you can.

She lifts a faultless palm which featured no sign of imperfection. She's never worked a day in her life.

"Please. Your condition," she says with a smile. Her lips are lavender and she has sparkles in her hair. She gestures to the throne - the ghosts have gone. "Reminiscing?"

"Yes," you answer, voice unsteady.

"Ah," she muses. "Your father's spirit walks these corridors. You don't have to be Force sensitive to feel him."

You don't know what to say to this. Instead of replying, your eyes catch vision of the throne, glided with gold and marble.

"Well, since you're here, we might as well get to know one another." She takes a seat on one of the pillows beside the pond. "Come. Sit."

You do, your feet thanking you for it.

"So, you're the one who ensnared the commander." She says this almost blasé and dips her feet into the pond. The water is organic, murky, and clouded with algae; her feet disappear within moments.

Somewhat offended, you reply, "I hardly think ensnared is the right word."

She grins. "Mystified him, then."

You grimace, hand now cupping your belly.

Sabyr sighs, drifting her legs back and forth and creating ripples in the water. "My girls are enamored with him," she says. She must mean her maidens. "He's very handsome – very powerful."