naturally, another oversight — paul, genuinely shocked by her reaction. he has a calculating mind that works by the products of binomials, you and alia plus me and alia equals ... well, a trio. three strands to a perfect braid, an intersection of equaled and shared feelings all bitten back at each other. alina the sun, alia the moon, paul the stars in the sky filling up the lightyears distance between them.
unless, of course, he was wrong. maybe she doesn't love alia. the more threatening, stomach churning, heart racing hypothetical: maybe she doesn't love paul.
it's a nasty feeling. he regrets it once he thinks it, admitting to himself that there's nothing he wouldn't sacrifice to keep alia happy — nothing he wouldn't sacrifice for alina's continuing bliss. except, of course, each other. he can no sooner separate himself from alia than he can take the marrow out of his bones. he could live without alina as easily as he could live without the blood in his veins. isn't that obvious? doesn't she see she's killing him? he doesn't require her love as long as she stays next to him, always. if she sat down, she'd never have to say another kind word to him again — he'd be grateful for her presence, for her life, for her lash on his back.
he gets it under control in a second, weirding way tactics dropping his expression to completely neutral, no muscle out of line. you can't unring a bell, and paul respects her too much to lie to her. he steadies his chin, seals his fate. accepts that someone who cannot permit him to love his sister cannot be with him at the end of all things, where he and alia will go into oblivion. what future could permit alina and not alia? none at all, none.
( what future could permit alia and not alina? the one true fate, as life was written — before alina brought love back into their hearts. no life at all, none. we desert flowers need our sunshine. they'd be better off dying, than to love and learn and lose. ) )
You and Alia are my right and left arms. I love you both. ( he stretches out his fingers, feeling the burning heat of alina's hand still branded on his palm. the hard truth: ) So do you, Alina Muad'Dib Starkov Atreides. You can't cut us out of you with a knife.
no subject
naturally, another oversight — paul, genuinely shocked by her reaction. he has a calculating mind that works by the products of binomials, you and alia plus me and alia equals ... well, a trio. three strands to a perfect braid, an intersection of equaled and shared feelings all bitten back at each other. alina the sun, alia the moon, paul the stars in the sky filling up the lightyears distance between them.
unless, of course, he was wrong. maybe she doesn't love alia. the more threatening, stomach churning, heart racing hypothetical: maybe she doesn't love paul.
it's a nasty feeling. he regrets it once he thinks it, admitting to himself that there's nothing he wouldn't sacrifice to keep alia happy — nothing he wouldn't sacrifice for alina's continuing bliss. except, of course, each other. he can no sooner separate himself from alia than he can take the marrow out of his bones. he could live without alina as easily as he could live without the blood in his veins. isn't that obvious? doesn't she see she's killing him? he doesn't require her love as long as she stays next to him, always. if she sat down, she'd never have to say another kind word to him again — he'd be grateful for her presence, for her life, for her lash on his back.
he gets it under control in a second, weirding way tactics dropping his expression to completely neutral, no muscle out of line. you can't unring a bell, and paul respects her too much to lie to her. he steadies his chin, seals his fate. accepts that someone who cannot permit him to love his sister cannot be with him at the end of all things, where he and alia will go into oblivion. what future could permit alina and not alia? none at all, none.
( what future could permit alia and not alina? the one true fate, as life was written — before alina brought love back into their hearts. no life at all, none. we desert flowers need our sunshine. they'd be better off dying, than to love and learn and lose. ) )
You and Alia are my right and left arms. I love you both. ( he stretches out his fingers, feeling the burning heat of alina's hand still branded on his palm. the hard truth: ) So do you, Alina Muad'Dib Starkov Atreides. You can't cut us out of you with a knife.