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
Her chin motions to the scars on her chest after he touches her, and her smile strains itself tightly across her lips. Castile takes it all in - the sight of her, the smell of her - as though this will again be the last time they meet. Perhaps it is his possessive nature that keeps him so closely rooted to her, wanting her like he has other women. Always craving love, he often found himself wandering and polygamous despite telling himself that it is monogamy that would truly bring him joy. It's what mother and father had, after all. So, shouldn't that play as his perfect role model?
Once, he thought so too.
But then there was Ciri, Solace, Sabra, and Sochi.
Each opportunity he had, each chance of love, he shattered. It was his fault, and he can take that responsibility, but that doesn't nullify the fact that each failure bit away at him and broke him.
He isn't quite the same man as he once was, but he also isn't entirely different.
"Fancy that," a chuckle, deep like rumbling thunder, slips past as Ciri nearly quotes him. Their lives have seemingly both faced trying tribulations. He can see it in her eyes how much she has endured over the years. Questions simmer beneath his level demeanor, wanting to know more about her and more about what trials she has faced. Hopefully not alone, he finds himself thinking.
Every twitch of muscle and sharp breath holds Castile's unwavering attention. The world around them begins to fade as his gaze travels across her in deep scrutiny, memorizing her all over again. They aren't children anymore and the years have come and gone, and yet something stirs and crackles in the space between them. History. There was pain and yearning and confusion back then. Yet they speak nothing of it. They move along in conversation, never addressing their past so that they may instead look ahead. "Like what?" he asks, never telling her that this may not be permanent. Truthfully, Castile isn't so sure he belongs here anymore, but her company anchors him for at least the time being. "Tell me," he murmurs in reiteration, curious as to what could have possibly changed here in Beqanna.
Once, he thought so too.
But then there was Ciri, Solace, Sabra, and Sochi.
Each opportunity he had, each chance of love, he shattered. It was his fault, and he can take that responsibility, but that doesn't nullify the fact that each failure bit away at him and broke him.
He isn't quite the same man as he once was, but he also isn't entirely different.
"Fancy that," a chuckle, deep like rumbling thunder, slips past as Ciri nearly quotes him. Their lives have seemingly both faced trying tribulations. He can see it in her eyes how much she has endured over the years. Questions simmer beneath his level demeanor, wanting to know more about her and more about what trials she has faced. Hopefully not alone, he finds himself thinking.
Every twitch of muscle and sharp breath holds Castile's unwavering attention. The world around them begins to fade as his gaze travels across her in deep scrutiny, memorizing her all over again. They aren't children anymore and the years have come and gone, and yet something stirs and crackles in the space between them. History. There was pain and yearning and confusion back then. Yet they speak nothing of it. They move along in conversation, never addressing their past so that they may instead look ahead. "Like what?" he asks, never telling her that this may not be permanent. Truthfully, Castile isn't so sure he belongs here anymore, but her company anchors him for at least the time being. "Tell me," he murmurs in reiteration, curious as to what could have possibly changed here in Beqanna.
castile
@[ciri]