Don’t. [It comes out too harsh, too sharp, and Alia’s pale cheeks color a deeper pink as she steps inside, barefoot and bare-legged, her nightgown pale and clinging, a slip of fabric, a slip of a girl. She’s grown accustomed to the sweaters and skirts of this place, to her hair pulled up in a high ponytail, curls tumbling loose as she tosses her head, careless and bright and cruel. But her hair is tangled, messy, snarls of gold on her shoulders, and she hugs herself tight as if cold.]
I did. I did have to. I had to – [Alia stops, just inside the door, stomach tight, boiling with panic, thinking a thousand shattered thoughts – the way Jessica would not meet her eyes, once her abomination daughter was too old, too impulsive to be controlled, the hum of her ship as she left Arrakis, as she fled her children and the fate she’d given them, the empty halls of echoing stone in Arrakeen, as Paul sought solace in the desert, as Irulan paced and glared and turned to stone, as Chani filled with the twins that would murder her. Blood on the sand, and a blinded messiah in the dunes.
She doesn’t realize she’s shaking, doesn’t realize how much the thought of driving Alina away would hurt until it’s knocking at her door. Loss is a weakness, fear is a weapon, but what are they when you bring them on yourself? What is Alia if she isn’t a knife? A girl with no shoes, stepping closer, reaching out, hands soft and unsure against Alina’s crossed arms, a girl sinking to her knees and looking upwards, eyes bright, throat tight.] Please look at me, Alina. Please.
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I did. I did have to. I had to – [Alia stops, just inside the door, stomach tight, boiling with panic, thinking a thousand shattered thoughts – the way Jessica would not meet her eyes, once her abomination daughter was too old, too impulsive to be controlled, the hum of her ship as she left Arrakis, as she fled her children and the fate she’d given them, the empty halls of echoing stone in Arrakeen, as Paul sought solace in the desert, as Irulan paced and glared and turned to stone, as Chani filled with the twins that would murder her. Blood on the sand, and a blinded messiah in the dunes.
She doesn’t realize she’s shaking, doesn’t realize how much the thought of driving Alina away would hurt until it’s knocking at her door. Loss is a weakness, fear is a weapon, but what are they when you bring them on yourself? What is Alia if she isn’t a knife? A girl with no shoes, stepping closer, reaching out, hands soft and unsure against Alina’s crossed arms, a girl sinking to her knees and looking upwards, eyes bright, throat tight.] Please look at me, Alina. Please.