10-03-2019, 07:24 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
There is a calm before the storm as father and son reunite beneath the midday sun, smiles stretched across their lips. Life frequently pulls them apart, but they always find each other, drawn by their blood and need for one another. With Valdis lost among the ferns, there is only Velk – instead of both – to find solace and comfort in as the weeks melt into years. There is always something new on the horizon when their paths connect, a pile of news to sift through and address. Last, it had been Mary and the coupling.
Little does he know that the same storm is looming overhead, dark gray and churning.
Emotions and uncertainty choke Velk at first, and Castile nearly inches closer to urge him, but then the outburst arises and there is an unexpected explosion. Instinctually, fire coils in his gut and scales ripple across his skin. Colors vibrantly dance in complementary fashion until he turns to see what – or whom, actually – has such an effect on his son. Their names coolly suspend in the air until ripped down and apart by the sharpness of Velk’s tongue.
Quickly, everything settles in Castile. He is stoic as he placidly stands in observation with scrutinizing eyes that dart back and forth. This is their story, their predicament. There’s little he can add except, ”She’s right. Mary is a Loessian now.” A ranked member versus kin. His place is awkwardly between them. And as much as he wants to stare at his son following Mary’s accusation, Castile does and says nothing more, adopting a mediating role for the first time in his life.
Little does he know that the same storm is looming overhead, dark gray and churning.
Emotions and uncertainty choke Velk at first, and Castile nearly inches closer to urge him, but then the outburst arises and there is an unexpected explosion. Instinctually, fire coils in his gut and scales ripple across his skin. Colors vibrantly dance in complementary fashion until he turns to see what – or whom, actually – has such an effect on his son. Their names coolly suspend in the air until ripped down and apart by the sharpness of Velk’s tongue.
Quickly, everything settles in Castile. He is stoic as he placidly stands in observation with scrutinizing eyes that dart back and forth. This is their story, their predicament. There’s little he can add except, ”She’s right. Mary is a Loessian now.” A ranked member versus kin. His place is awkwardly between them. And as much as he wants to stare at his son following Mary’s accusation, Castile does and says nothing more, adopting a mediating role for the first time in his life.
castile
@[Velk] @[Mary]