05-04-2019, 07:02 PM
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
And why would they tell a child?
When Castile looks down at his children, he wants only to preserve their innocence and shield them from the darkness that looms most often with the breach of adulthood. Everything becomes complicated, intricate, and occasionally lethal. He doesn’t want to see his prodigy – although certainly strong – to have their childhood ripped out from underneath them. Perhaps, as good of parenting as he considers this, there is another argument that supports letting the children face the looming obstacles sooner. There are benefits of both, he supposes.
As he glances to Oriash, he cannot help to assume that she is similar to his own brood – more or less ignorant to many of the world’s happenings.
But she holds her own and defies him with an honest, flat tone. A tendril of black smoke coils reactively from his nostrils, but he holds his tongue long enough to consider her statement. It wasn’t malicious, he reminds himself as to tamper himself. A sigh rolls through him as he slowly nods in agreement. ”I can relate,” he confesses whilst reminiscing of his childhood, roaming from one place to another in search of a place that could provide for him, and he for it. Year passed until Loess settled in his bones and offered him another opportunity he couldn’t turn down. Time and time again, it has handed him more than he deserved. This chance, however, and this crown, are with troublesome expectations that he one day must address.
Loess has always been different. It needs to be fed adventure and unrest.
A half laugh escapes Castile unexpectedly when he regards her statement, still so blunt and truthful. ”Aren’t we all a little sick?” Not by only the plague, but by so much more.
Blinking, he draws his mismatched eyes away from her, prepared to drink in more of Loess’ scenery, but it’s interrupted by Kagerus and Solace. Their slender bodies are in view, seemingly solid and entirely present. Although never having truly seen Kagerus, he knows Solace all too well. His motion is frozen, paused by his surprise to them standing in his path, silently staring through them. There are minute differences that unsettle him, that fester curiosity inside his thoughts. A step inches him forward, followed by another until he halts again and glances back over his shoulder. The former Caretakers remain quiet, unreactive. ”Is this your doing?” To test the theory and solidity of the illusion, a plume of fire is expelled from his lungs that passes through the image of Kagerus – only Kagerus. ”They look almost real,” he finally mutters when the flames extinguish and the last of the smoke dissipates into the cool air. Turning, he faces her with a newfound fascination.
When Castile looks down at his children, he wants only to preserve their innocence and shield them from the darkness that looms most often with the breach of adulthood. Everything becomes complicated, intricate, and occasionally lethal. He doesn’t want to see his prodigy – although certainly strong – to have their childhood ripped out from underneath them. Perhaps, as good of parenting as he considers this, there is another argument that supports letting the children face the looming obstacles sooner. There are benefits of both, he supposes.
As he glances to Oriash, he cannot help to assume that she is similar to his own brood – more or less ignorant to many of the world’s happenings.
But she holds her own and defies him with an honest, flat tone. A tendril of black smoke coils reactively from his nostrils, but he holds his tongue long enough to consider her statement. It wasn’t malicious, he reminds himself as to tamper himself. A sigh rolls through him as he slowly nods in agreement. ”I can relate,” he confesses whilst reminiscing of his childhood, roaming from one place to another in search of a place that could provide for him, and he for it. Year passed until Loess settled in his bones and offered him another opportunity he couldn’t turn down. Time and time again, it has handed him more than he deserved. This chance, however, and this crown, are with troublesome expectations that he one day must address.
Loess has always been different. It needs to be fed adventure and unrest.
A half laugh escapes Castile unexpectedly when he regards her statement, still so blunt and truthful. ”Aren’t we all a little sick?” Not by only the plague, but by so much more.
Blinking, he draws his mismatched eyes away from her, prepared to drink in more of Loess’ scenery, but it’s interrupted by Kagerus and Solace. Their slender bodies are in view, seemingly solid and entirely present. Although never having truly seen Kagerus, he knows Solace all too well. His motion is frozen, paused by his surprise to them standing in his path, silently staring through them. There are minute differences that unsettle him, that fester curiosity inside his thoughts. A step inches him forward, followed by another until he halts again and glances back over his shoulder. The former Caretakers remain quiet, unreactive. ”Is this your doing?” To test the theory and solidity of the illusion, a plume of fire is expelled from his lungs that passes through the image of Kagerus – only Kagerus. ”They look almost real,” he finally mutters when the flames extinguish and the last of the smoke dissipates into the cool air. Turning, he faces her with a newfound fascination.
castile
@[Oriash]