A knife called grief enters the throat as if it were made of sugar. Paul's hands are covered in blood — someone else's or his own — it doesn't matter so much, because the darkness in his head, it’s vague appearance, in the silhouettes of those people he once knew, asks him to run.

He left his home, he left these people behind, but what is he going to do with the memories that are ingrained in him? He can run on, but not without them.

The heavy sun is falling on the shoulders of the atreides heir, he is tired. he's so damn tired.

All people need a place to stay one day, to take off their silk masks, after long escapes. After the darkest nights, soaked in the iron smell of blood. He's running, he doesn't know what's going to happen next. But you know it's not going to get any better. You know that another morning awaits him — from a shot through the temple to cherry pits in the heart.

Again, in an attempt to feel. he remembers his mother's hands, warm and familiar, like a home, like a place he would like to return to. He also knows that it's impossible to go back.

You are sitting in front of him on the hot sand, your palms in his hands, hidden by ashes and hopes that you are afraid to say too loudly. You want to see him with all his sins. You want to taste them, you want to feel him, and he wants to know you in return.

It seems that people are afraid to pronounce every sin, every truth and every lie in the same way, because the result is always the same. But you will make him believe, and if you want, he will love you.

Because you know you'll do the same for him.

"When the planet is shrouded in darkness, when we strip down to the bones, what will be your salvation?" His voice cuts through the silence that has persisted up to this very moment, and you know that you have found the answer to his sudden question.

Now you found it.