[private] Firestarters always get the burns

[Castile]

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

He is a hunter, a monster. He relies heavily on watching the expressions and reactions of his prey. They guide him and play into his methods. And so he notices the flicker in Ilma’s face, but he glazes over it without so much as a shrug. It’s understandable that she may be deterred by his brash behavior, agitated by his terse voice. Many squirm beneath him now. Some tread carefully, realizing his explosiveness and unpredictability. Ilma, however, faces him bravely and combats the air around him with dignity.

As always, Castile applauds her for that.

”I am, Ilma,” his voice rumbles forebodingly from his throat, reverberating throughout his entire core as he inches toward her. The intensity of his stare never wavers. He bores into her as smoke coils from his nostrils – a habit now more than anything – and he considers her statement for another moment longer. ”When you saw me, years ago, I was a mess. I was vulnerable,” a pause as he disgustedly snarls, ”I was weak.” Never again, he promised himself. No one else would see him struggle and drown in such emotions. It would never happen again.

He wouldn’t fall prey to that ever again.

A breath slowly rises and falls. Easily enough he could turn her away now, dismiss her with a simple flick of his tail, but he doesn’t. Instead, he provides her the information she likely thirsts for. ”I’ve since addressed my mistakes. I’ve learned from them and I have moved on in the best way possible.” His mismatched eyes flash vibrantly, knowing that she is aware even without names being spoken.

castile