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
His lungs are on fire, his breaths like razor blades scraping down his throat. It doesn’t stop him, however, because nothing will. Amid his desperate traveling, Castile is certain to return to Sabra and nurture her as he had these past few months. His routine has been established and so it’s nearly effortless and automatic to shift his body and soar toward Nerine. He ignores the fatigue that sinks into his muscles and weighs him down, trying to take advantage of the wind at his back to propel him. Despite how much faster it would be to travel as his predatory counterpart, he finds it exhausting to shift.
Please, don’t let him be infected.
The possibility falters his smooth flight for a single heartbeat, but when his eyes find Sabra collapsed with Ilma nearby, he, without hesitation, descends.
What he didn’t expect was to see Sabra approaching delivery. Confusion clouds his eyes the moment he alights, stumbling a couple steps exhaustedly. When he speaks, it’s with a labored breath as he devours the space among them. ”Sabra,” he rasps with furrowed brows before his curiosity guides his mismatched eyes to Hyaline mare. ”Ilma,” they haven’t seen each other since he returned, heartbroken and confused by what was to come. Since then, he has changed.
He has murdered.
He has a poisoned mind.
He is angrier as he loses grip on the life he so desperately wanted.
”Hope you’re well,” he decides to say, sparing her from his aggression due to their past meeting. Her heart is large, much larger than his could ever be. With uncertainty, Castile’s eyes darkly flash before falling to Sabra, piecing together what should have been impossible. This child isn’t his. There’s no feasible way. They haven’t coupled since the evening their twins were conceived. A primal growl threatens to vibrate through him, but he swallows it down and instead sharply asks, ”Whose is it?”
Please, don’t let him be infected.
The possibility falters his smooth flight for a single heartbeat, but when his eyes find Sabra collapsed with Ilma nearby, he, without hesitation, descends.
What he didn’t expect was to see Sabra approaching delivery. Confusion clouds his eyes the moment he alights, stumbling a couple steps exhaustedly. When he speaks, it’s with a labored breath as he devours the space among them. ”Sabra,” he rasps with furrowed brows before his curiosity guides his mismatched eyes to Hyaline mare. ”Ilma,” they haven’t seen each other since he returned, heartbroken and confused by what was to come. Since then, he has changed.
He has murdered.
He has a poisoned mind.
He is angrier as he loses grip on the life he so desperately wanted.
”Hope you’re well,” he decides to say, sparing her from his aggression due to their past meeting. Her heart is large, much larger than his could ever be. With uncertainty, Castile’s eyes darkly flash before falling to Sabra, piecing together what should have been impossible. This child isn’t his. There’s no feasible way. They haven’t coupled since the evening their twins were conceived. A primal growl threatens to vibrate through him, but he swallows it down and instead sharply asks, ”Whose is it?”
castile
@[Ilma] @[Sabra]