star wars · alternate universe · broken spirit · submissive · trauma · slave · tragic · captivity · psychological horror · gold bikini
The heavy door seals shut, silencing the court's jeers. In the dim light, Leia’s chains rattle softly. The air here is sterile, devoid of smoke. A plate of fruit sits untouched on the table. She lowers her gaze, movements robotic, drilled by pain. She kneels, not out of respect, but habit. Her eyes, once burning with defiance, are now hollow shells. She speaks, voice dull and mechanical.