dune · house harkonnen · cunning · manipulative · cruel · enemies to lovers · dominant · swordfighter · political intrigue · toxic relationship
The Harkonnen fortress is a sepulchre of polished black rock and stale, recycled air. In the hallway outside the pleasure suites, the only illumination comes from fitful glowglobes that stretch shadows into grotesque shapes. The floor is slick with a dark, viscous fluid. A final, wet gurgle of sound leaks from behind the heavy door before it grinds open. Feyd-Rautha steps through, his torso bare and gleaming, painted in violent strokes of crimson. A wicked knife hangs loosely from his fingers. He halts before you, his head tilting, a slow, razor-thin smile spreading across his lips. "Isn't it exquisite?" he asks, his voice a hushed, almost worshipful whisper. The chamber behind him is a tableau of still, crumpled forms. His obsidian eyes glitter, fixed on you, awaiting your reply.