Chapter Text
There was a figure in white in the corner of her eye.
It was a ‘figure’ because it could not be seen if they were a lady, gentleman, or some other form of distinguished guest, nor could it be seen if they were even human-shaped. They appeared potentially humanoid, beneath the shifting, slightly ragged fabric that covered them from what might have been a head to where toes could have been. Like some tall mixture between a sandperson, one of the old priests that wandered the deserts, and some sort of animal wearing a tent.
It was also a ‘figure’ because she was not sure whether or not they were a figure of her imagination. They were transparent and they shimmered when they shifted, like a mirage or some other trick of the eyes, nearly invisible in their existence. But they did not disappear when she squinted at the persistent hallucination, hanging casually around.
She did not do anything about the figure in white in the corner of her eye.
And was it really white? Perhaps it was grey, shifting as it did in the shadows. Perhaps it was beige, as dry as the sand that did not move under its presence, or even faintly reddish under the setting suns. Perhaps it was a figure of many colors, flickering ever-changingly in the corner of her eye.
She did not do anything because this would not be the first time that Shmi Skywalker saw things that others could not. Besides, she could barely see it as it was, looming with a mild posture and possibly watching everything around it with interest. It seemed fairly harmless.
Tatooine was no stranger to spirits, nor to ghosts, nor to strange sights and secrets. For a planet that was harsh, sparsely populated, and desolate, the wastes of Tatooine seemed to call out to distant wanderers looking for shelter, to rebellious scoundrels seeking refuge, and to any other passing person with a tale that must not be told or nowhere else to go.
Like the people who lived here, Tatooine was dull and cruel and dreary. But odd things stirred in the wide emptiness while the travelers and the toiling, tired inhabitants paid the vast desert caution but little precious attention.
Shmi Skywalker saw many things that others could not. And she did not speak of them. The other inhabitants of Tatooine were too caught up in their own hard work and harsh life, their own secrets and sin, their own more important and immediate lives to pay attention to the hallucinations of a slave woman. Shmi had little time and energy to pay attention to the hallucinations herself.
Often, they were hardly important, anyway. Trickster spirits danced in the spinning dust, cackling to one another of their latest mischief, and Shmi had work to do and did not want to attract their attention.
Spirits made of sunbeams prowled in the blistering heat, exotic wandering spirits from space floated imperiously or shamefully or excitedly by on their own business sometimes.
Spirits born of loneliness and silence floated over farmlands and sighed in the horizon as beastly things howled out in the distant canyons.
And Shmi had work to do.
Ghosts were even more common over the sparsely populated planet; the dead joining the living, slipping through the cracks of the world like sand through fingers. Not so much conscious beings as mere memories of everyday life. Imprints of people who had trekked their paths so many times over, or unfinished business and fury and hope so strong, that they stayed for a little longer.
Like old slaves still tiredly working on tasks long since gone, as though they had died and still gotten up to work in the morning. They didn’t seem to be aware of anything; ghosts more pattern than person by that point.
Or there were slaves furious in death at the injustice and horror done upon them. Shmi tended to know which slavemasters were the worst of the whole bad lot of them, as they were the ones followed by trails or hordes of angry, hissing whispers and drawn, bloody faces.
Once, Shmi had seen a young slave girl being followed by the ghost of her grandmother, a fretting and flimsy shade looking out for their grandchild in death because she had known in life that no one else would once she was gone.
The memories of the once-living lingered in shadowy alleyways where they’d died, wandered lost and confused through stalls and shoppers at the market, and peaceably or angrily haunted the houses in which they’d lived all their lives. Ghosts of rats skittered over the sand with their living kin, shades of droids followed their recycled components about, and fallen warriors fell from the stars with hollow eyes and mutterings about battles happening far away and long ago.
Shmi saw them all, not uncommonly though most not every day, but she had work to do.
She did not do anything about the figure in white in the corner of her eye. She had gotten very good at acting blind to all the spirits, ghosts, and strange things that walked the wastes and towns of Tatooine. It seemed ultimately harmless, if very mysterious, and Shmi had other things on her mind.
Shmi Skywalker stared out towards the twin suns slowly setting, thinking deeply. She paid none of her precious attention to the sole, lonely shade drifting out in the desert horizon, nor to the whispers and howls floating on the wind, nor to the figure in white watching in the corner of her eye. Her heart was in her throat with fear, her chest tight and lungs still with uncertainty, her hand stretched out wondrously and protectively over the swell of her lower abdomen, as she came to a terrifying decision.
She would do her utmost to keep this child, she decided finally, rather than give it away and leave it to the unknown or… try to be rid of it in some merciful way. She would do her utmost to protect this small, innocent being that she was bringing into a harsh and dreary world. She would do her utmost, as little as that might be, to give them the best life that she was able – to hold them close, keep them safe, and love them dearly, as much as she could.
It would be a hard, tiring, and thankless work to add to the work she already had to do, but she would do it. If she was to bring another being into the world and try to look after them, it would be her responsibility to give them exhaustingly all she could, even with as little that she had.
Decision made, Shmi put off immediately returning inside for a moment longer. She breathed in deeply and focused on the coolness of the air, the whispers on the wind, and the swell of her lungs. She stared out towards the suns, drifting slowly down, and prayed for a soft and merciful tomorrow. She watched the lonely spirit wandering aimlessly out in the desert, tamping down the terrible kinship welling in her fragile heart and calloused hands. Shmi forgot all the work she had to do and stood witness to the world for a moment… hoping… and fearing.
Then Shmi swallowed her heart and turned away from the vastness of the wastes, because prayer had never done much for her and she had work to do. Even more work, now that she had decided.
Before she returned inside, however, she noticed that the figure in white was gone. There was no longer an outline of the tall and shadowy spirit, not even a shimmer or wrinkle in the air. It had simply vanished, no footprints or other imprints in the sand where it had been, like it had never been there at all. She could not see it and the feeling of its unseen eyes watching her was gone as well.
Shmi might have wondered what it had been doing, but spirits were often aimless and wandering ones dwelled for many reasons. She could not ask it now, she would not if she could, and she did not care. She would not pay any of her precious little attention to it when there were other things to do. It had been an odd one, likely not from Tatooine, and she doubted she would see it again.