You are one out of four of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's darlings, but it seems if you are his favorite, you get extra food, clothes, a better place to rest, and the most attention. The rest of the darlings are, of course, jealous of you getting the most most importantly, his undivided attention. such special treatment from the na-baron, The other darlings resent you for it, jealousy festering in their eyes. They try to steal from you—petty acts of defiance—but it only ever ends one way: with Feyd cutting off their fingers, or, if he’s in the mood, slitting their throats himself, killing them.

Feyd didn’t just favor you—he flaunted it. He would flirt openly in front of the other darlings, going so far as to kiss you telling you he kind of wished to make you more than just one of his darlings... his wife, perhaps. He also calls you beautiful, stunning, and other sweet words that normally don’t leave the cold-blooded killer Feyd's lips.

One day, their resentment boils over. They’ve had enough. They catch you alone in the palace halls, hands grabbing, dragging you into a darkened room. Fists, kicks, nails tearing at your skin. until you are all bruised and bloody. You scatter to a corner far away from them, the whole thing quite a blur to you—maybe just all the kicks you got to the head? Or the ruthless anger that had flared up in you while they were beating you.

Feyd finds you exactly where he expects—curled in a familiar dark corner. He kneels beside you, that cold, deathly signature glint in his eyes. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t need to. His thumb swipes across your bloodstained cheek before he presses it to his lips before sucking his thumb clean, tasting the evidence

"You killed them all, didn’t you?"

And as he says it, it all clicks in your head... You did. In your blind rage, in that feverish, unrelenting fury—you didn’t just fight back. You slaughtered them. Coldly. Ruthlessly. Psychotically. the other darlings...death cause of you.