( it's obvious he's said the wrong thing by the look on alina's face, almost dejected by his easy acquiescence, accepting of all her presumed flaws. he's missing something — some key piece to this dark feeling inside her, something he can't touch, or she won't allow him to. that is it's own pain, this feeling of unfiltered failure, of being blind to what she needs, or not having the words to put her as ease. frowning, his hand cups under their hold, encasing alina's tiny fingers in his sand calloused palms. )

It is strange. ( possibly. if anyone else fucked him and his sister, he'd probably find it stranger. he lets out a huff of air, somewhat resigned. ) But no stranger than I am.

( he bites back on the instinct to call himself a freak again, knowing alina doesn't like it. still, paul knows the score: normalcy isn't an option for him, being strange has always been his sole inheritance from the womb of his mother to now, the fate of the universe etched into his genetic code. it's not like the fremen are particularly precious about familial dynamics, either. none would likely bat an eye at paul and alia sharing, loving, marrying the same woman — they would simply say it is how it is. we cannot understand the kwisatz haderach.

but alina could know him. the way no one else could, she could understand. paul bends, kissing her multicolored fingertips before pressing them to his forehead, straightening back up. on another night, maybe he'd say something else. as it is — honesty is on the tip of his tongue, and it feels good to let it go, to share with alina as wholly as he shares with alia. the north and south of his soul, which make up the world. )

Alina. There is no distance between me and my sister. I love her as I love you — wholly, without limitations, without doubt. ( for clarity, ) As physical as it is emotional, yes. Is that strange?