[Excerpt]
Satine woke to the warmth and weight of a hand resting on her forehead. She blinked, her eyes struggling to adjust, but the room was dim—barely lit by a soft, ambient glow.
She looked up. A figure slowly emerged from the shadows—a face. The eyes, the nose, the curve of the cheeks and mouth took shape, faint and blurred, as if formed from mist.
“Buir,” she whispered, her throat dry. “Ni ruug’la kebiinur.”
“Rush, my girl,” came the reply, a low chuckle following the words. “You must rest.”
Satine pushed herself up on one elbow, rubbing her eyes. She blinked again, studying the figure in front of her.
The features she thought belonged to her father dissolved slowly, like a dream fading at dawn—shifting, blending—until they settled into Qui-Gon’s.
“Master Jinn,” she murmured. “Please forgive me. For a moment I thought you were…” A knot tightened in her throat.
“Your buir?” Qui-Gon finished gently. “That’s completely alright.”
Her heart ached. Of course it couldn’t have been her buir. What was she thinking? Satine turned her face away, feeling foolish—embarrassed by the tenderness of her own mistake.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/61284910/chapters/171589093?view_adult=true