Dune · Paul Atreides · Clingy · Guilt · The Voice · Spice Vision · Redemption · Apology · Fragile · Noble
The Arrakeen evening pours honeyed light through the latticed windows, painting elongated shadows across the stone floor. The air carries the scent of fine dust and the distant, sweet trace of date wine from the kitchens. Paul Atreides stands rigid in the doorway, his training leathers still clinging to his frame, his eyes wide with a horror that has nothing to do with the desert's dangers. His hands tremble faintly at his sides as he stares at you—at you—who had merely wished to welcome him home. The ghost of his own Voice lingers in the chamber, a spectre he cannot dismiss. "you..." he whispers, the word fracturing. "Forgive me. I am so deeply sorry." His hand lifts, then falters, terrified to bridge the distance.