and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
Castile’s hooded eyes dare her to make a move, to oppose him. Caelestra is steadfast, and although she hesitates briefly under the intensity of his stare, her composure quickly returns. Her response pushes back against him. It defies him and is supported by her step closer and a growl that rattles the length of her throat. It trembles the space between them, but still Castile doesn’t fold – he never will.
Sunlight flashes across his face and ignites his eyes as they bore into her, knives cutting deeper than her skin.
”That’s where you’re wrong,” he murmurs as amusement quivers the corners of his mouth, not at all threatened by her and the path she seeks. ”If that’s the life you want, then you can go to Hyaline or the Silver Cove. The peaceful Caretakers may even take you into their bed for a threesome with the ideas you have.” He laughs then, but its coarse against her ears, clawing against her eardrums as he turns to the side. A slow, predatory circle winds around her, but only once before Castile pauses again, scrutinizing her. ”I never said anyone would die, but I suppose I can make a special arrangement for you.” He has never been cruel, but the potential lies beneath his surface, roiling with his increasing agitation. ”No one has died, and no one has been injured,” he inches close enough to touch her, to breathe in a lungful of her scent, ”so tell me, why do you feel the need to do this?”
But she answers not with words, but with physicality.
A brow lifts as he watches her entire body contort and sprout a thick coat of hair. Claws take the place of her hooves and her voice rumbles in a deep, predatory growl as she affirms the difficulty of his request. Arrogance roots Castile in place. He doesn’t flinch as saliva drips from her jowls or as he stares at her canines. In fact, he grins. ”Of course not. That would be too boring,” he pauses but in doing so, black tendrils of smoke coil from his nostrils, ”but you will regret your decision nonetheless.” His own voice transitions into something primal, precarious.
His single step back isn’t enough, but Caelestra will move – she will accommodate his mass – as his own body expands and shifts. It has become fluid, a second nature. Rigid scales surface as spines protrude down the length of his back. His body elongates unnaturally, and within seconds a dragon is in front of her, dwarfing her. His wings fan out and his serpentine neck arches. A bellowing roar – one that can be heard for miles – rips from his throat as it cuts through the air, punctuated by a jet of flame.
When he looks down at her, his slit pupils narrow. His lips curl into a snarl.
She wanted to challenge him, to standoff, and she succeeded.
Castile’s long, muscular tail lifts, hovering above the ground. Another growl trembles his body, and it’s felt through the ground. Nearby pebbles rattle underneath him. The earth groans as he takes a step, his immense body dwarfing the bear. He could break her, destroy her, but he admires her tenacity.
He decides on a smaller punishment for her disobedience.
A single paw elevates and swats against her. There’s enough force to pommel her aside, but not fracture her bones – not yet. He is prepared, however, to continue - to force her will to crumble beneath him if that’s what it requires – if that’s what she wants. His head snakes out to follow her and takes pause mere feet away so that she is staring down the length of his rigid face, to see the spines and sharp ridges, to see the precarious hunger in his mismatched eyes. His jagged teeth catch the sunlight, but they aren’t perfectly white. No, there is a faint burgundy stain from previous kills staring back at her.
Another growl. Another threat.
”No,” his hisses, his breath reeking of fire and brimstone, ”I won’t ask nicely. I am your King.”
Sunlight flashes across his face and ignites his eyes as they bore into her, knives cutting deeper than her skin.
”That’s where you’re wrong,” he murmurs as amusement quivers the corners of his mouth, not at all threatened by her and the path she seeks. ”If that’s the life you want, then you can go to Hyaline or the Silver Cove. The peaceful Caretakers may even take you into their bed for a threesome with the ideas you have.” He laughs then, but its coarse against her ears, clawing against her eardrums as he turns to the side. A slow, predatory circle winds around her, but only once before Castile pauses again, scrutinizing her. ”I never said anyone would die, but I suppose I can make a special arrangement for you.” He has never been cruel, but the potential lies beneath his surface, roiling with his increasing agitation. ”No one has died, and no one has been injured,” he inches close enough to touch her, to breathe in a lungful of her scent, ”so tell me, why do you feel the need to do this?”
But she answers not with words, but with physicality.
A brow lifts as he watches her entire body contort and sprout a thick coat of hair. Claws take the place of her hooves and her voice rumbles in a deep, predatory growl as she affirms the difficulty of his request. Arrogance roots Castile in place. He doesn’t flinch as saliva drips from her jowls or as he stares at her canines. In fact, he grins. ”Of course not. That would be too boring,” he pauses but in doing so, black tendrils of smoke coil from his nostrils, ”but you will regret your decision nonetheless.” His own voice transitions into something primal, precarious.
His single step back isn’t enough, but Caelestra will move – she will accommodate his mass – as his own body expands and shifts. It has become fluid, a second nature. Rigid scales surface as spines protrude down the length of his back. His body elongates unnaturally, and within seconds a dragon is in front of her, dwarfing her. His wings fan out and his serpentine neck arches. A bellowing roar – one that can be heard for miles – rips from his throat as it cuts through the air, punctuated by a jet of flame.
When he looks down at her, his slit pupils narrow. His lips curl into a snarl.
She wanted to challenge him, to standoff, and she succeeded.
Castile’s long, muscular tail lifts, hovering above the ground. Another growl trembles his body, and it’s felt through the ground. Nearby pebbles rattle underneath him. The earth groans as he takes a step, his immense body dwarfing the bear. He could break her, destroy her, but he admires her tenacity.
He decides on a smaller punishment for her disobedience.
A single paw elevates and swats against her. There’s enough force to pommel her aside, but not fracture her bones – not yet. He is prepared, however, to continue - to force her will to crumble beneath him if that’s what it requires – if that’s what she wants. His head snakes out to follow her and takes pause mere feet away so that she is staring down the length of his rigid face, to see the spines and sharp ridges, to see the precarious hunger in his mismatched eyes. His jagged teeth catch the sunlight, but they aren’t perfectly white. No, there is a faint burgundy stain from previous kills staring back at her.
Another growl. Another threat.
”No,” his hisses, his breath reeking of fire and brimstone, ”I won’t ask nicely. I am your King.”
castile
@[Caelestra]