03-09-2020, 09:32 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
Freeing, she says. Lovely.
Castile doesn’t bother to hide his skepticism as his eyes narrow on her. ”Boring, I would think,” the statement blurts from his agape jaws, unable to mask the uncertainty he clutches in the topic of death. His life, albeit brimming with mistakes, has always been enthralling. He has fought and loved, fathered children, been a son, flown among the clouds, hunted, and lived. How frightening it would be, he imagines, to have nothing and to be nothing. His triumphant roars would no longer echo across the plains, and his adrenaline would never again course through his veins. Life – or lack thereof – would be hollow, meaningless. It’s a fate for those wanting rest, but Castile rarely stops. He isn’t ready for death.
But will he ever be?
Little does he realize that Sabra has died more than once, that the Fates seem to enjoy playing with her soul with each revival. There is a look on her face, one that piques Castile’s curiosity, but he says nothing of it as he considers the options of exchanging his heart. A sigh escapes from between his jaws. ”I doubt they would see much value in my heart,” they are such powerful beings; what could they possibly want with the organ of a monster? ”But it could save me from more anguish and more mistakes,” his heart, at this point, is held together with tape and Band-Aids. He hesitates to think using it again. It would break Oceane next; yet another undeserving victim on his list. ”It only causes more pain,” Sabra should know from experience. Although he has craved love and family since his childhood, his ability for monogamy is fleeting.
He wanted Solace until she found happiness in another’s arms.
He had Sabra, but their fiery passion was explosive together (though he does remember those few tender moments).
Sochi was a beautiful thing that he regrets destroying to this day, but he betrayed her and her trust.
Oceane… No, he must protect Oceane from himself.
With so much conflict tossing in his head, he desperately tries refocusing his energy on the battered woman in front of him. His eyes trace along the ridges of the spear, noting how her blood saturates the fibers. A deep inhalation wafts the scent of it into his nostrils; his tongue twists in his mouth, nearly tasting it and remembering it from years prior. Hunger slowly builds inside him, brick by brick, but he shifts his weight and swallows as a means of distraction. ”I suppose neither of us will ever learn,” half humor, half truth, ”but I guess that’s one way of keeping life exciting.” That’s one way to put it. Throughout all the trials and tribulations, at least things are fun right? They’re exciting in between the lows. Rustling his wings, Castile fails to unlodge the one question burning him. ”Does it hurt?” His chin tips in indication of the javelin. How cruel it would be to suffer daily from emotional pain as much as physical.
Castile doesn’t bother to hide his skepticism as his eyes narrow on her. ”Boring, I would think,” the statement blurts from his agape jaws, unable to mask the uncertainty he clutches in the topic of death. His life, albeit brimming with mistakes, has always been enthralling. He has fought and loved, fathered children, been a son, flown among the clouds, hunted, and lived. How frightening it would be, he imagines, to have nothing and to be nothing. His triumphant roars would no longer echo across the plains, and his adrenaline would never again course through his veins. Life – or lack thereof – would be hollow, meaningless. It’s a fate for those wanting rest, but Castile rarely stops. He isn’t ready for death.
But will he ever be?
Little does he realize that Sabra has died more than once, that the Fates seem to enjoy playing with her soul with each revival. There is a look on her face, one that piques Castile’s curiosity, but he says nothing of it as he considers the options of exchanging his heart. A sigh escapes from between his jaws. ”I doubt they would see much value in my heart,” they are such powerful beings; what could they possibly want with the organ of a monster? ”But it could save me from more anguish and more mistakes,” his heart, at this point, is held together with tape and Band-Aids. He hesitates to think using it again. It would break Oceane next; yet another undeserving victim on his list. ”It only causes more pain,” Sabra should know from experience. Although he has craved love and family since his childhood, his ability for monogamy is fleeting.
He wanted Solace until she found happiness in another’s arms.
He had Sabra, but their fiery passion was explosive together (though he does remember those few tender moments).
Sochi was a beautiful thing that he regrets destroying to this day, but he betrayed her and her trust.
Oceane… No, he must protect Oceane from himself.
With so much conflict tossing in his head, he desperately tries refocusing his energy on the battered woman in front of him. His eyes trace along the ridges of the spear, noting how her blood saturates the fibers. A deep inhalation wafts the scent of it into his nostrils; his tongue twists in his mouth, nearly tasting it and remembering it from years prior. Hunger slowly builds inside him, brick by brick, but he shifts his weight and swallows as a means of distraction. ”I suppose neither of us will ever learn,” half humor, half truth, ”but I guess that’s one way of keeping life exciting.” That’s one way to put it. Throughout all the trials and tribulations, at least things are fun right? They’re exciting in between the lows. Rustling his wings, Castile fails to unlodge the one question burning him. ”Does it hurt?” His chin tips in indication of the javelin. How cruel it would be to suffer daily from emotional pain as much as physical.
castile
@[Sabra]