( you're not the only one with strange dreams, she writes, a lifeline thrown out to save paul from drowning in his otherness. selfishly, she deletes it. she knows what comes next in that sequence of events, without needing a prophetic dream to warn her — paul, innocently taking an interest in her. alina, trying not to shipwreck herself on the truth of what she is.
a second attempt: you're not strange. a sweet lie that would dissolve as quickly as sugar on the tongue. really, it's rejection bowtied into a kinder package, returning his own gift of honesty back to him — saying i don't want to know what you are. i only want to know the version of you i dreamed inside of my own head. soft sheets tangle around her legs when she shifts onto her back, like she's caught herself in a fisherman's net, unsure of how to wiggle her words free. )
if you were made in my image, then you can never be strange to me. you can only be known. i'm alina. and you're ( my ) paul. and if you're strange, then i'll be strange with you.
i've never been what ravka considers normal, anyway. it's comforting to hear of a future where i'm not alone in that. it's more than i've let myself hope for. fate hasn't been very merciful to me, in a lot of ways.
( it's not not frightening, but — thinking of destiny makes the collar around her throat want to cinch tighter, eternal slave to a force greater than herself. so: )
i do wonder about something, though. do you think your prophetic dreams are more or less binding than your never-ending quest to put a baby inside of me?
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a second attempt: you're not strange. a sweet lie that would dissolve as quickly as sugar on the tongue. really, it's rejection bowtied into a kinder package, returning his own gift of honesty back to him — saying i don't want to know what you are. i only want to know the version of you i dreamed inside of my own head. soft sheets tangle around her legs when she shifts onto her back, like she's caught herself in a fisherman's net, unsure of how to wiggle her words free. )
if you were made in my image, then you can never be strange to me. you can only be known.
i'm alina. and you're ( my ) paul. and if you're strange, then i'll be strange with you.
i've never been what ravka considers normal, anyway. it's comforting to hear of a future where i'm not alone in that.
it's more than i've let myself hope for. fate hasn't been very merciful to me, in a lot of ways.
( it's not not frightening, but — thinking of destiny makes the collar around her throat want to cinch tighter, eternal slave to a force greater than herself. so: )
i do wonder about something, though.
do you think your prophetic dreams are more or less binding than your never-ending quest to put a baby inside of me?