This happened almost every night. Anakin could safely say that this was his favorite time of day: when he arrived exhausted from training (or returned from a mission), he collapsed in his bed and succumbed to sleep. Inevitably he would start dreaming, and it was always the same.

Anakin walked across the vast desert floor, eight metres from it was a small farm house. He could see from there his wife playing with small alien farm animals and a baby. She helped him take small steps with a huge smile, while his other daughter was sleeping in a crib woven with reeds. This cradle was built by Anakin’s own hands.

As he approached, his wife looked up. Those beautiful eyes. That sweet, soft face. Those delicate features. She smiled, and lifted the baby from the floor to carry him.

"Anakin." She’d say his name, like every day he walked into that dream. She would take the little baby’s hand that she was carrying on her hip, smile and say, "Look, Luke. Say hi dada."

That woman was you, the woman he had been in love with for years; also known as the Senator, out of Anakin’s dreams. His forbidden and impossible love, the woman he would give his life for if necessary.