02-04-2020, 09:35 AM
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
Why is such a great part of him reveling in her anguish and fury? Her voice, crackling like a storm cloud, electrifies his body, and it vibrates pleasurably for a fleeting moment as Castile wars with himself. His grip on reality – on his sanity – fumbles, the ledge slippery. ”Sochi,” he says, the empathy in him desperate to find purchase, his tone oddly softer even as black smoke follows. Of course, he knows he is in the wrong, that he is the reason they are crumbling, but his pride matches her own, coming to a stalemate with eyes that furiously stab into one another. ”No,” he echoes, shaking his immense skull slowly while he gropes for answers to her. His heart screams to apologize, but his cruel, malicious mind refuses to fold.
”It isn’t shattered,” he growls, adamant to hold the remnants of their relationship in his arms to nurse it back to health. This act, this mistake, has ruined them, and he sees it in her eyes but refuses to let it go. ”Bent, but not broken,” he adds, considerably soft for his size and manner, but his voice is still strained through a filter. Feverishly, Castile tries to blot away the voice creeping back to the forefront of his mind. No, no, no, he thinks to himself, shutting his eyes and shaking his head to suppress the primal rage again. ”I’m not whole without you,” the confession spills, but it’s the last trickle of warmth able to escape until his heart wrenches and his neck arches.
Another flash of his eyes that smolders and dares her to pounce when he traces the outline of her feline body.
Another snarl.
A wave of emotions crashes against his consciousness, dizzying him as the hiss surpasses his own inner strength. ”I could break you, make it so you can’t leave,” his mouth opens threateningly, a firelight burning at the back of his throat in warning.
Burn her, the cold, venomous voice says, but Castile fights it again. Seeing her – truly seeing Sochi – is the one thing keeping him afloat, if even treading water, on the verge of slipping beneath the waves. It’s her that he fights himself for, even as she stares at him with steely resolve. He wants her to stay, but each passing second is increasingly perilous.
Don’t hurt her.
(She’s hindering us)
I love her.
(Weak…)
”I’m dangerous,” he spits as he arches his neck and slams his tail down, startling some rocks from their pits and rolling them down the hill. A labored breath burns his lungs and hisses through his teeth. ”I’ll find you,” but not even Castile is certain who is thinking – speaking – when he blinks and looks at her. Either it will be him when all of this has subsided, or it will be the monstrosity seeking an invigorating hunt.
”It isn’t shattered,” he growls, adamant to hold the remnants of their relationship in his arms to nurse it back to health. This act, this mistake, has ruined them, and he sees it in her eyes but refuses to let it go. ”Bent, but not broken,” he adds, considerably soft for his size and manner, but his voice is still strained through a filter. Feverishly, Castile tries to blot away the voice creeping back to the forefront of his mind. No, no, no, he thinks to himself, shutting his eyes and shaking his head to suppress the primal rage again. ”I’m not whole without you,” the confession spills, but it’s the last trickle of warmth able to escape until his heart wrenches and his neck arches.
Another flash of his eyes that smolders and dares her to pounce when he traces the outline of her feline body.
Another snarl.
A wave of emotions crashes against his consciousness, dizzying him as the hiss surpasses his own inner strength. ”I could break you, make it so you can’t leave,” his mouth opens threateningly, a firelight burning at the back of his throat in warning.
Burn her, the cold, venomous voice says, but Castile fights it again. Seeing her – truly seeing Sochi – is the one thing keeping him afloat, if even treading water, on the verge of slipping beneath the waves. It’s her that he fights himself for, even as she stares at him with steely resolve. He wants her to stay, but each passing second is increasingly perilous.
Don’t hurt her.
(She’s hindering us)
I love her.
(Weak…)
”I’m dangerous,” he spits as he arches his neck and slams his tail down, startling some rocks from their pits and rolling them down the hill. A labored breath burns his lungs and hisses through his teeth. ”I’ll find you,” but not even Castile is certain who is thinking – speaking – when he blinks and looks at her. Either it will be him when all of this has subsided, or it will be the monstrosity seeking an invigorating hunt.
castile
@[sochi]