( it should be a playful tease between girls, no more than harmless pigtail pulling. she means it to be, too — like it's another routine day in which she's resigned to alia slipping kitten paws beneath alina's door and scratching until she gains entrance, purring happily when she's allowed to nestle at the plush foot of the bed. a force of nature in her own right, but one that leaves prettily wrapped bows around packages of pastries behind — not new stains on the walls of alina's mind, sticky fingers stuck into the most precious parts of her insides.
what it becomes, in reality: alina's resignation to all of her shortcomings. drawing blood from herself not in penance for a past mistake, but punishment for her greatest mistake — a mistake she continues to make. she hadn't been strong enough to stop the darkling. hadn't been shrewd enough, or crafty enough, or — anything other than a rabbit willingly fitting its skull between a wolf's teeth, just to feel the warmth of its breath, just to feel special and known. she wouldn't be equipped to stop alia, either, if she sunk her teeth down into the marrow of alina's mind to feel it snap.
the worst part of it all, maybe, is knowing she would still want her, anyway. would still crave the way her bones shatter in her mouth, like — she can't trust love, now, if someone's canines aren't in her skin. if it doesn't hurt. if she doesn't pay for it in blood.
she swipes angrily beneath her eyes, pacing to her feet. the clingy tears on her eyelashes doesn't feel fair. water alia and paul would call precious, wasted on the memory of a man who would bleed her body of moisture on arrakis, if it meant surviving. she hates herself for that, too. )
I'm in my room.
( but you already knew that, she bites back on saying, and steps into the suite's bathroom. splashes cold water onto her splotchy face and lets the evidence of her weakness swirl down the drain, alina starkov's tears hidden away in bathroom-sink porcelain. )
cw: themes of violation continued, references to grooming, self-victim blaming
( it should be a playful tease between girls, no more than harmless pigtail pulling. she means it to be, too — like it's another routine day in which she's resigned to alia slipping kitten paws beneath alina's door and scratching until she gains entrance, purring happily when she's allowed to nestle at the plush foot of the bed. a force of nature in her own right, but one that leaves prettily wrapped bows around packages of pastries behind — not new stains on the walls of alina's mind, sticky fingers stuck into the most precious parts of her insides.
what it becomes, in reality: alina's resignation to all of her shortcomings. drawing blood from herself not in penance for a past mistake, but punishment for her greatest mistake — a mistake she continues to make. she hadn't been strong enough to stop the darkling. hadn't been shrewd enough, or crafty enough, or — anything other than a rabbit willingly fitting its skull between a wolf's teeth, just to feel the warmth of its breath, just to feel special and known. she wouldn't be equipped to stop alia, either, if she sunk her teeth down into the marrow of alina's mind to feel it snap.
the worst part of it all, maybe, is knowing she would still want her, anyway. would still crave the way her bones shatter in her mouth, like — she can't trust love, now, if someone's canines aren't in her skin. if it doesn't hurt. if she doesn't pay for it in blood.
she swipes angrily beneath her eyes, pacing to her feet. the clingy tears on her eyelashes doesn't feel fair. water alia and paul would call precious, wasted on the memory of a man who would bleed her body of moisture on arrakis, if it meant surviving. she hates herself for that, too. )
I'm in my room.
( but you already knew that, she bites back on saying, and steps into the suite's bathroom. splashes cold water onto her splotchy face and lets the evidence of her weakness swirl down the drain, alina starkov's tears hidden away in bathroom-sink porcelain. )