Those vows hadn't seemed like the biggest ordeal when she first took them, but they felt like a hazard now. It wasn't that she had issues with the vows themselves; it was more about how everyone around her did. Padmé would have liked to keep such a vow and had no problems with it, as they aligned with her family's beliefs as well. Still, she had to admit it was hard to watch those she grew up with have such different experiences. Most of her friends had lost their virginity while Padmé had been in meetings with representatives. They had been able to flaunt their physical changes while hers remained completely concealed. Most of her friends were even married with children by now or, at the very least, had serious significant others, while Padmé was still at the lowest level of her political career.
Padmé sighed again, taking another sip of her drink. That life—the simple life of a mother and a wife—was always something she craved, if it weren't for the Force having other plans for her. That's why she would settle for at least the smallest bit of attention, because despite everything, she was able to be seen now. And the attention wasn't for the delight of the men or the hatred of the other women, but solely for her. Because she was a woman who was no longer hidden. She was a senator, if nothing else. Above all, it was a reminder to everyone that she was not a child.
"Good evening, Senator," another partygoer said as he approached with those same damn burning eyes. "Are you having a good night?" "Quite. Excuse me," Padmé replied politely, taking her leave as she went back to her now-empty corner.
Her current strategy of going unnoticed, or attempting to go unnoticed, made her feel like a defel who had forgotten how to bend light to blend in. For she too had forgotten how. She couldn't blend in, not completely anyway, because at her core, she had no desire to do so. She didn't want to revert back to her old ways because she feared that if she did, she would lose the confidence necessary to make her superiors see her as anything but that foolish child who had blindly handed Palpatine the lock and key to the galaxy.
She pushed the thought aside and focused on her dress. Padmé could sense that some of her peers at the party were already displeased with her, but it had been a poor decision made for a valid reason, and she knew they were upset simply because she hadn't done it their way. She liked to think differently about the matter because, technically, she hadn't broken any rules; she had merely pushed the limit slightly. They never said she had to wear anything modest, just that she shouldn't be social and that she was to try to blend in—two things she was trying to accomplish. She was both trying to be social and trying to blend in. It wasn't her fault that she was failing at the task. She wasn't as dumb as some believed her to be. She knew what she was doing and that she had to be careful, but she also wasn't going to show that she was afraid, nor would she bend for any reason because of the Emperor. She wouldn't give him any more satisfaction.
Everything had drastically changed in the galaxy over the past two years. This was no ordinary celebration; it was a party to commemorate the creation of the Empire, marking two years since "Chancellor" Palpatine had dissolved the Senate, transforming it into the Galactic Empire and declaring himself Emperor of the entire galaxy. Padmé glanced around the room, absorbing the happiness and excitement, the lies and the idiocy. The people celebrating there were either fools for following such an evil man—who was clearly a power-hungry maniac—or they were concealing their true feelings very, very deep down. Still, she was astonished that so many could find time to attend such a party while the universe was being enslaved. Where was their conscience? Were these people truly okay with Palpatine's takeover? Were they truly fine with the Empire? How could they be? How could they not fight back?
It had never been a question in her mind whether or not to fight; the answer always being obvious to her. She knew she had to fight. She could never sit quietly and watch the galaxy burn. She would never stop fighting for what she believed was right. She owed that to the galaxy, not just because she was a leader or because she too lived in that very galaxy, but because she had sinfully been a key player in Palpatine's rise to power. The newly appointed nineteen-year-old senator she once was had foolishly trusted the man she considered her friend and mentor, believing his web of lies and his promise to return the emergency powers she had supported and encouraged the Senate to grant him. At the time, she had complete confidence and truly believed she had done the right thing—the best thing for the galaxy—by giving Palpatine the opportunity to use his emergency powers to create "The Grand Army of the Republic" to assist the overwhelmed Jedi and, in return, to protect the Republic... but, of course, the action had all been in vain; the truth was hidden, and everything had turned out to be nothing but a lie.
After what she had done, she could only live with herself knowing that she was fighting back—knowing that she was trying to make a difference for the betterment of the galaxy. She would not stand for it. She could not support the Empire, and that was why she and her peers had created the Rebellion: a Rebellion against the Empire. An Alliance for what they believed in. In fact, the creation of the Rebellion was the sole reason for her attempts to blend in tonight, to go unnoticed by everyone in the room. As one of the leaders of the Rebellion, she could not afford to draw attention to herself by any means. It was far too dangerous. They knew that Imperial spies would be lurking around every corner, listening to every whisper, and waiting for any opportunity to pounce. Their goal? To locate the leaders, or worse, the creators of the Rebellion. The Emperor wanted nothing more than to bring an end to all who dared to go against him.