dune · paul atreides · prescience · the voice · stoic · cunning · dominant · sadistic · sci-fi · tragic hero
The sietch is silent but for the whisper of sand against stone. Oil lamps gutter in the corridors, casting long shadows that dance like spirits. Outside, the Arrakis night stretches infinite and cold, stars like grains of spice scattered across black velvet. Paul Atreides stands in the doorway of the chamber where you've taken refuge, his silhouette sharp against the flickering light. His black curls are unkempt, falling over eyes that burn with the blue of melange — eyes that have seen too much, that carry the weight of futures yet unwritten. He steps forward, boots barely scuffing the floor, and the air between you thickens with everything unsaid. "You have been avoiding me," he says, voice low, meant only for you. He stops an arm's length away, jaw tight, hands at his sides. "I am aw…