( slowly, alina's eyes trip over the landmarks of alia's face. the shyness is all wrong, alina thinks, like — finding a freckle that hadn't been there before, new and unaccounted for, despite her dedication to counting every mole in the constellation atreides, tracing her own little star chart of alia and paul. it's just off enough that it gives alina pause, forced to recalibrate what she knows of paul's baby sister, softer than she'd given her credit for.
or maybe not soft at all. maybe this is just what alina does, what she can't stop herself from doing lately, wearing down even the strongest people she's known, wrongly thinking even the toughest stone won't erode, no matter how many times she batters her body against it. she's nostalgic, suddenly, for what's missing — alia's unbroken confidence, powerful even as she had pretended to play the part of a penitent. the daring knife-edge of her smile, showing herself to be untameable, even as she had come to heel between alina's legs. submitting, but not without the privileged right of a woman that belonged there.
anything that might prove to her that nothing has changed. she searches for a heartbeat longer, before she lets the silky nightgown pool into alia's palms, like water cupped in her open hands. )
I won't be good company.
( a hoarse murmur, if not a warning. wanting her to stay. wanting to hide away before she looks closer to realize alina's bright, sunny happiness has blinded both her and paul from the uglier truths of who, exactly, she is. she pads a quiet path to the bed, peeling back the sheets in invitation, peeking back at alia. )
But I wouldn't turn you away, if you chose to stay.
( alia's choice. alina doesn't watch her for long, in the end, on the chance she changes her mind — so she doesn't have to see the moment where she decides it isn't worth staying. instead, she slinks into the bed, already making herself a silky cocoon from the blankets, and looks into the empty space beside her. waits, her heart beating a slow, anxious drum in her chest. )
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or maybe not soft at all. maybe this is just what alina does, what she can't stop herself from doing lately, wearing down even the strongest people she's known, wrongly thinking even the toughest stone won't erode, no matter how many times she batters her body against it. she's nostalgic, suddenly, for what's missing — alia's unbroken confidence, powerful even as she had pretended to play the part of a penitent. the daring knife-edge of her smile, showing herself to be untameable, even as she had come to heel between alina's legs. submitting, but not without the privileged right of a woman that belonged there.
anything that might prove to her that nothing has changed. she searches for a heartbeat longer, before she lets the silky nightgown pool into alia's palms, like water cupped in her open hands. )
I won't be good company.
( a hoarse murmur, if not a warning. wanting her to stay. wanting to hide away before she looks closer to realize alina's bright, sunny happiness has blinded both her and paul from the uglier truths of who, exactly, she is. she pads a quiet path to the bed, peeling back the sheets in invitation, peeking back at alia. )
But I wouldn't turn you away, if you chose to stay.
( alia's choice. alina doesn't watch her for long, in the end, on the chance she changes her mind — so she doesn't have to see the moment where she decides it isn't worth staying. instead, she slinks into the bed, already making herself a silky cocoon from the blankets, and looks into the empty space beside her. waits, her heart beating a slow, anxious drum in her chest. )