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ARAMINTA slept with a knife within her grasp. It brought her comfort and helped her feel quiet, it gave her less to worry about while she was in her weakest state and gave her an edge for any situation. She had long felt like she couldn't rest properly unless she had a weapon for a pillow and was behind a lock. As such, rest was well-received after any mission she went on where it was harder to choose where she slept, so when she was woken by a knock on her door, her hand tightened around the blade as she slipped out of her covers.
She had been moved to a bigger room in the Temple in honour of her services since the beginning of the Clone War, or something along those lines, she had largely zoned out during the process. All Araminta knew was she had received a larger space than anything she had lived in before, and it was hers. It was not the temporary residence she had had when she had first been taken into the Order, and it was not the cold, metal walls of Octavian's quarters that smelt of iron.
Everytime she entered it was a reminder of how far she'd come, and how much she had spited the man who had ruined her life, who she knew would tear his skin off at the thought of his most-prized asset living wall-to-wall with Jedi in their temple. On her bedside table was a vase, which was constantly replaced with new flowers by Padme, who had been appalled by her lack of decoration when she had first visited. It was the main spot of colour in the room, but Araminta didn't mind. Keeping the space clean and organised kept her sane, and made her feel safe.
She didn't switch on a light as she made her way through the dark to her door, knife still gripped in one hand, bare feet padding silently. Araminta paused, ears perked, before she recognised the presence on the other side of the door. With a sigh, she opened it to see Anakin standing there.
Araminta slumped her tense shoulders, the knife spinning loosely in her hands at the lack of a threat. "What is it?" she asked, quietly. She was used to the situation of him appearing at her quarters for a moment of peace in the night; it was hardly the first time since the war had begun.
Anakin's eyes flicked down to the knife catching the faint light. "Your good one?" he said, lightly.
The assassin's lips curved into a tired smile. "Always."
She moved out of the doorway, letting him enter before closing the door behind him, watching as he turned on the lamp beside her bed. She winced at the sudden brightness, blinking rapidly to get used to it.
"Sorry," Anakin said weakly, seeing her distaste for the light.
She shrugged, dismissively, as she placed her knife on her bedside table, not sheathing it as it reflected shapes onto the ceiling. Anakin briefly glanced up at it, before looking back to Araminta who slumped onto her bed, pulling her knees to her chest, arms resting around them. She stayed quiet, waiting for him to settle in and talk, as he always did.
