"No," Leia tells him. "I might be angry at times, but I could never hate my son."
She reminds herself not to think of the meaning behind all this right now, the possibility that, in the future, she might hate her own child. If she doesn't, she's still managed to give the impression of hatred. Isn't that equally bad? Ben still looks upon her with anger and pain.
Her hand drops. The desire to touch his arm, or possibly his hair, does not.
"If you are my son, I love you. No matter what you do." Even if he murders his own father. Even if he stands against everything she believes in. She must love him yet, however painfully. If she doesn't, she's not sure she wants to become that woman.
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She reminds herself not to think of the meaning behind all this right now, the possibility that, in the future, she might hate her own child. If she doesn't, she's still managed to give the impression of hatred. Isn't that equally bad? Ben still looks upon her with anger and pain.
Her hand drops. The desire to touch his arm, or possibly his hair, does not.
"If you are my son, I love you. No matter what you do." Even if he murders his own father. Even if he stands against everything she believes in. She must love him yet, however painfully. If she doesn't, she's not sure she wants to become that woman.