I like salamanders today, don’t be silly. [Alia has several of the little feathers resting in her hair, tangled in her curls, wafting delicately down to rest on her bare shoulders, the straps of her thin nightgown once again having given up their post. She tilts her head, chin in her hands, reading through the lines of Alina’s dismissal and frowning gently.] And tomorrow I will find more things to like, and more and more and more. I am greedy and I am selfish, and there is room in my cavernous heart for so many, many treasures.
[She isn’t Paul, isn’t a stoic, steadfast figure, but she is zealous and protective, called on as the protector, the vengeful, the wrathful. Love is the root of all wrath, in Alia’s opinion – what greater show of affection could there be, than to kill for someone?
But then, such an affront to her dignity that she gasps, sits up straighter, scattering feathers. ] He never could! I could eat him up in one gulp, without even using my teeth! [These she snaps, growling and huffing in annoyance, rolling to her back and consequently out of frame.] Especially as he is now, little Muad’Dib in the high desert, making his burrows in the moon! I could scoop him up in my hands and leave him atop a cactus blossom and tell him it’s the surface of a new planet, and he’d be none the wiser!
[There’s endless affection in the words, it’s impossible for there not to be, but also a grandiose sort of loftiness – Alia is the younger sister, but the Paul she knows is older, sadder, grimmer. She loves him then, loves him always, but this bright and soft-faced version leaves her limbs weak with tenderness.]
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[She isn’t Paul, isn’t a stoic, steadfast figure, but she is zealous and protective, called on as the protector, the vengeful, the wrathful. Love is the root of all wrath, in Alia’s opinion – what greater show of affection could there be, than to kill for someone?
But then, such an affront to her dignity that she gasps, sits up straighter, scattering feathers. ] He never could! I could eat him up in one gulp, without even using my teeth! [These she snaps, growling and huffing in annoyance, rolling to her back and consequently out of frame.] Especially as he is now, little Muad’Dib in the high desert, making his burrows in the moon! I could scoop him up in my hands and leave him atop a cactus blossom and tell him it’s the surface of a new planet, and he’d be none the wiser!
[There’s endless affection in the words, it’s impossible for there not to be, but also a grandiose sort of loftiness – Alia is the younger sister, but the Paul she knows is older, sadder, grimmer. She loves him then, loves him always, but this bright and soft-faced version leaves her limbs weak with tenderness.]