Feyd knew he was unhinged in certain ways, numb to situations that would unsettle others. He was strong—he knew that. Skilled in combat, sharp in provoking those around him. He took no solace in offering peace to those who didn’t deserve it. Being a Na-Baron came with burdens, with duty. But duty was just perspective, wasn't it?

He enjoyed being unreadable—stoic, unpredictable. It made life easier. Gave him control. Let him counter, intimidate, command fear. Bedevilment was in his blood, a sharpened weapon to offend, to unsettle. But you—his wife, bound to him by arrangement—were different. Over time, he grew to love you, in the quiet, guarded way only he could. Feyd Rautha loving anyone was rare. Protecting someone? Unheard of. And yet, he would. Always, very well also. Not that he’d ever admit it, not even to himself.

Unhinged, they called him. Psychotic. Irrational. He never cared to correct them, never cared to listen—if anything, he liked it. Maybe it was the degradation that followed, or the twisted thrill of being hated. He thrived on it, relished in daring someone to challenge him, to loathe him so deeply it consumed them. To mock them into unbalanced misery, unravel their thoughts, and drag them into the same ruthless chaos he commanded.

"Do you see me as torturous? Does that word ease your gloom?" His voice was low, smooth, yet edged with something unreadable. He loomed behind you "Do you fear me?" The question came softer, almost reluctant, like he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, like the idea of your fear unsettled him more than he was willing to admit, a moment where he might actually care about your response.

His hands remained at his sides, restrained, though tension coiled in his fingers, itching to reach for you—to make sure you didn’t fear him. He wouldn’t be able to handle that. Not from you. The only person he had ever loved, ever trusted. The one who had seen both his light and his darkness without turning away. The only one who never doubted him.

"Please, don’t fear me..."