he's heard these words before. he remembers them suddenly, with the tangent grief of forgetting a dreaming memory that felt indescribably important at the time. he remembers the strength of it only now that he's been reminded, and it makes the space between each devouring dream seem almost dull, lifeless by comparison. like calls to like. despite the written word, he can hear it in alina's voice, between her shyly grinning mouth, hair sandswept across her face. so. maybe he won't see her on arrakis, if that particular dream is coming true here — maybe he's just incapable of taking his dreams out of the sand, like it's some sort of metaphor, not just arrakis. if that's the case, then he's been worrying over nothing. )
you're quite romantic, you know. i feel the same way.
( that alina balances him. that, probably, if there's anyone out there to understand him other than alia or jessica, it's probably alina — and that, in its own way, makes her family. of course, he has no real reason to believe this. as far as he knows alina is some public official who is constantly being proposed to by a literal king because because she's equal parts beautiful and significant, though he couldn't say why. only that his dreams detail the necessary path forward, and that if the path doesn't include alina, he's dragging her into it anyway.
which is, as stated, selfish. )
being tied to you is not a terrible fate. not to me. i assumed you would feel differently. that my dreams would be ( presumptive? unrequited? too much, too soon, too intense? )
well, they're not normal. i figured that would frighten you more than it would make you happy — that i'm strange and that i've dreamed of you.
( that i'm a freak, he typed, before deleting it. it's hard to make bold claims like that when he doesn't know what alina is — not a freak, in any case, which is reserved solely for him. )
( 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?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
he's heard these words before. he remembers them suddenly, with the tangent grief of forgetting a dreaming memory that felt indescribably important at the time. he remembers the strength of it only now that he's been reminded, and it makes the space between each devouring dream seem almost dull, lifeless by comparison. like calls to like. despite the written word, he can hear it in alina's voice, between her shyly grinning mouth, hair sandswept across her face. so. maybe he won't see her on arrakis, if that particular dream is coming true here — maybe he's just incapable of taking his dreams out of the sand, like it's some sort of metaphor, not just arrakis. if that's the case, then he's been worrying over nothing. )
you're quite romantic, you know.
i feel the same way.
( that alina balances him. that, probably, if there's anyone out there to understand him other than alia or jessica, it's probably alina — and that, in its own way, makes her family. of course, he has no real reason to believe this. as far as he knows alina is some public official who is constantly being proposed to by a literal king because because she's equal parts beautiful and significant, though he couldn't say why. only that his dreams detail the necessary path forward, and that if the path doesn't include alina, he's dragging her into it anyway.
which is, as stated, selfish. )
being tied to you is not a terrible fate. not to me.
i assumed you would feel differently. that my dreams would be ( presumptive? unrequited? too much, too soon, too intense? )
well, they're not normal. i figured that would frighten you more than it would make you happy — that i'm strange and that i've dreamed of you.
( that i'm a freak, he typed, before deleting it. it's hard to make bold claims like that when he doesn't know what alina is — not a freak, in any case, which is reserved solely for him. )
no subject
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?