it's an intense resurrection. alina expels energy she doesn't have to bring paul back safely, and she loses parts of herself during — her hair goes gray like a raccoon, her skin dull, as if the sunshine inside her had to be divided to seize paul, to drag him back from the living. the whole action wasn't terribly traumatizing for him, because he always knew alina would bring him back. but it was horrifying for one brilliant, power fulled second. paul, full of light and alina's life, back from the dead, and alina — addicted. wanting more.
he had to stop her, physically. the moment spun out, both of them needing to care for each other. now it's some time post resurrection, alina letting him reunite with his sister alone although he really can't stomach being away from her — but he does it because she accidentally commands, and he listens, with an impulse that borders on compulsion. down the steps and to alia's cell door, paul arrives somewhat bedraggled, hair mussed and clothes askew, the tips of his fingers up to his third knuckles looking dipped in white paint, faintly glowing in the low lighting of the dungeon. )
Jessica. ( he calls out. his fingers slip through the bars, stretching. ) Come to me, now.
[Paul breathes and so too does Alia, gasping like she'd been holding her breath, submerged beneath icy dark water for a week. Perhaps she has been; the foggy recollections of visitors, of flickers in the dark, of tiny pinpricks of lucidity amidst a snarl of grief are all she has of that time when her brother, her light, her life lay still and cold. And still, beneath it, never an instant of doubt that Alina (brilliant, beloved, burdened by her power, her role, endangered again and again by it) would restore him to life.
So: he breathes, his heart fills with blood, and Alia is herself for the first time in days. She doesn't think to brush the snarls from her hair, to wash her tear-streaked face or clothe herself in anything aside from the too-thin nightgown she's worn for days. Let him see, when he comes. Let it be known the suffering endured by Alia Atreides, and let that and the fact of Jace's life (however short) stand as testament that she has served her sentence.
Her mind is bright and awake and alive from the instant Paul is, but she still awaits his visit impatiently. Her bare feet make soft, scurrying sounds -- like a mouse, like the echo of Muad'dib she is, his shadow, his sister -- as she hurries to the bars, eyes bright as they'd been when she met him in the sunlit halls all those weeks ago.]
Leto, Leto. [Softly, adoring, catching his hand and pressing her chapped lips to the center of his palm, to his wrist, to the tips of his bright fingers.] You're here. You're back. [Resurrect the son, resurrect the father, House Atreides surviving in his veins, no matter the world. Welcome him as herself, as their mother, as a mirror of Paul himself.] You're back.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
it's an intense resurrection. alina expels energy she doesn't have to bring paul back safely, and she loses parts of herself during — her hair goes gray like a raccoon, her skin dull, as if the sunshine inside her had to be divided to seize paul, to drag him back from the living. the whole action wasn't terribly traumatizing for him, because he always knew alina would bring him back. but it was horrifying for one brilliant, power fulled second. paul, full of light and alina's life, back from the dead, and alina — addicted. wanting more.
he had to stop her, physically. the moment spun out, both of them needing to care for each other. now it's some time post resurrection, alina letting him reunite with his sister alone although he really can't stomach being away from her — but he does it because she accidentally commands, and he listens, with an impulse that borders on compulsion. down the steps and to alia's cell door, paul arrives somewhat bedraggled, hair mussed and clothes askew, the tips of his fingers up to his third knuckles looking dipped in white paint, faintly glowing in the low lighting of the dungeon. )
Jessica. ( he calls out. his fingers slip through the bars, stretching. ) Come to me, now.
no subject
So: he breathes, his heart fills with blood, and Alia is herself for the first time in days. She doesn't think to brush the snarls from her hair, to wash her tear-streaked face or clothe herself in anything aside from the too-thin nightgown she's worn for days. Let him see, when he comes. Let it be known the suffering endured by Alia Atreides, and let that and the fact of Jace's life (however short) stand as testament that she has served her sentence.
Her mind is bright and awake and alive from the instant Paul is, but she still awaits his visit impatiently. Her bare feet make soft, scurrying sounds -- like a mouse, like the echo of Muad'dib she is, his shadow, his sister -- as she hurries to the bars, eyes bright as they'd been when she met him in the sunlit halls all those weeks ago.]
Leto, Leto. [Softly, adoring, catching his hand and pressing her chapped lips to the center of his palm, to his wrist, to the tips of his bright fingers.] You're here. You're back. [Resurrect the son, resurrect the father, House Atreides surviving in his veins, no matter the world. Welcome him as herself, as their mother, as a mirror of Paul himself.] You're back.