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
Castile frequently reminisced of his childhood, and of his time with Solace. Somehow, even after all this time, there’s a part of his heart that she still reigns – but it’s shrinking with every passing year. Once, he found himself reflecting on her more often than not. He counted back to the times that he ruined her and when he let her slip through his fingers. They could’ve expanded their family. They could’ve still found love and adoration in their embrace, but he ruined it just as he has ruined everything else. For years, even after breathing in the weighted scent of her new lover, Castile clutched desperately to the hope that Solace would return to him, that she would remember their flights together among the clouds and their tender hugs.
But the hope has since withered like the plants in this plagued world.
To see her soaring to the edge of Loess strikes him as odd. Memories flash briefly across the back of his eyelids when he blinks, but his heart no longer lurches when her wings catch the sunlight. Nonetheless, he investigates with an arrogant swagger and a raised brow when he reaches her, looming like a storm cloud just as she alights. ”Solace,” he drawls as he comes to a halt, his wings folded against his sides, idle. It would amuse him to dive into their past, to remind her of their times here in Loess, but something refrains him and ties down his tongue until the idea passes like the tide.
Muscles ripple beneath his taut skin when a nonchalant shrug rolls his shoulders. ”Fancy seeing you here,” it isn’t to necessarily see him, however, but a political matter that he has no other option than to address. It’s only a matter of time until word spreads that Loess is now within his grasp, huddled beneath his shadow. With a contemplative lick of his lips and an inclination of his baroque head, he asks, ”What brings you to my humble abode?” He expects surprise to surface and to betray the poker face she wears during interkingdom visits. Castile searches for that break in her formality as he allows the words to simmer between them even as he realizes what would truly bring her here.
Litotes.
But the hope has since withered like the plants in this plagued world.
To see her soaring to the edge of Loess strikes him as odd. Memories flash briefly across the back of his eyelids when he blinks, but his heart no longer lurches when her wings catch the sunlight. Nonetheless, he investigates with an arrogant swagger and a raised brow when he reaches her, looming like a storm cloud just as she alights. ”Solace,” he drawls as he comes to a halt, his wings folded against his sides, idle. It would amuse him to dive into their past, to remind her of their times here in Loess, but something refrains him and ties down his tongue until the idea passes like the tide.
Muscles ripple beneath his taut skin when a nonchalant shrug rolls his shoulders. ”Fancy seeing you here,” it isn’t to necessarily see him, however, but a political matter that he has no other option than to address. It’s only a matter of time until word spreads that Loess is now within his grasp, huddled beneath his shadow. With a contemplative lick of his lips and an inclination of his baroque head, he asks, ”What brings you to my humble abode?” He expects surprise to surface and to betray the poker face she wears during interkingdom visits. Castile searches for that break in her formality as he allows the words to simmer between them even as he realizes what would truly bring her here.
Litotes.
castile
@[Solace]