alia had known him better than he knew himself even before she had been born. paul remembers a time in which he asked her to return to the land of unknown, to stand with their father on that distant shore and wait for him to join them. he could not fix this galaxy before she came but she had known that. alia had known too much. her being pre-born left her standing on the very edge of abomination, fighting to have her mind to herself –– hoping and praying for some semblance of normalcy. theirs was a curse that no one else could understand. when the world fell to its knees, they would foresee it and they would stand at the precipice of destruction –– a penumbra of this holy war beneath a banner of the atreides' red hawk. but sweet, beloved, broken, lost alia was born more sick than he. paul had made his choice, had dove into his powers with the hope of razing the universe with the intention of leading his people to their paradise. their alia? she had no choice.
paul reaches over now, to take the porcelain form of his sister's hand. he loved her, in what way he could. so much in this life had become hard to grasp, including the finer emotions; they are family, though –– and paul would never not love the blood of caladan. 〝 we were, ” he assures, finally. 〝 if I could've made it so you weren't, alia, I would've. ” and he could definitely try harder to guide her now, help her to learn control of her abilities so she doesn't drown but he fears he will fail her.
a part of him very nearly flinches from his own words, though. what would things have been like if his sister was born more his father than his mother? if she had the heart of a true atreides woman; a fierceness and a need for justice –– calm, collected and just a girl. he would give almost everything to be able to offer her that. 〝 but what would be different if we weren't? in some way, we'd just be easier targets. ”
