02-10-2019, 09:43 PM
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
It was only a matter of time, he knew, until rumors rode on the winds and tides to announce the change in Loess. Yet another King, they think, yet another to come and go with the season. As acute as his hearing is – and how precariously near the border he is – Castile can just faintly hear the disdain laced into their words. A coy grin plays across his lips as he idly stands in the reaching shadow of a rocky outcropping. They arrive as a couple, exchanging terse words whilst maintaining a formality to address a new monarch. It’s almost tempting to respond to them, to assure them that he isn’t leaving, but instead he tucks their comments away into his memory. They may have their doubt and opinions; it’s only a matter of time until they change.
Their scent – riddled with autumn, forests, and undergrowth – is something he could never forget. The memory is still vivid. He fled Hyaline at a labored sprint to inform Djinni that the kingdom was burning. She, at the time, was Queen of Sylva, but that was many years ago. As he steps out of the shade and closes the distance between himself and the envoys, he cannot help to wonder how many rulers there have been since her resignation – since even mother’s reign in Nerine.
”Hello, Sylvans,” he remarks coolly with the final steps of his languid walk, his mismatched eyes darting between their faces as the wind lifts his bronze forelock to the side to frame his sharply-edged face. ”The name is Castile,” because he knows that’s what they are most curious about. Their land is a territory of Loess, a place of nobility handed to them by Wolfbane. ”And what may I call you both?” He is charming enough, for now, but his eyes flash warily when he nearly tastes his daughter’s scent mingling with the male’s. He doesn’t mention it. It would be leverage – or weakness – but he stores the information away, clutching it tightly to his chest as he tries to fathom his child in the arms of another man.
Their scent – riddled with autumn, forests, and undergrowth – is something he could never forget. The memory is still vivid. He fled Hyaline at a labored sprint to inform Djinni that the kingdom was burning. She, at the time, was Queen of Sylva, but that was many years ago. As he steps out of the shade and closes the distance between himself and the envoys, he cannot help to wonder how many rulers there have been since her resignation – since even mother’s reign in Nerine.
”Hello, Sylvans,” he remarks coolly with the final steps of his languid walk, his mismatched eyes darting between their faces as the wind lifts his bronze forelock to the side to frame his sharply-edged face. ”The name is Castile,” because he knows that’s what they are most curious about. Their land is a territory of Loess, a place of nobility handed to them by Wolfbane. ”And what may I call you both?” He is charming enough, for now, but his eyes flash warily when he nearly tastes his daughter’s scent mingling with the male’s. He doesn’t mention it. It would be leverage – or weakness – but he stores the information away, clutching it tightly to his chest as he tries to fathom his child in the arms of another man.
castile
@[Mary] @[Sinner]