i have lived for so long carrying this source as a matter of quiet and personal knowledge, and struggle now to grasp that it has fallen under the eyes of all the world. every day i hear casual discussion of dune, of arrakis and her prophet, and every day i must remind myself that no one knows of my own part in that tragedy. worse still, what has been captured in the screen is only the shadow of the body; i see now all the time images of that life, even images of "myself", which i know to be the play of puppets behind the fire. and yet, there is no way to explain this to those innocents who behold it; and i have no right to do so, when i myself painted that world in so many lies.
even so, i know my beloved ones did walk the sands of eternity. i raise my hand to trace the line of their passage, and my heart remains the tomb of that boundless and heavenly martyrdom.
— irulan, the widow atreides
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