02-24-2019, 07:33 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
Ilma.
Her scent carries on the autumn gale, and Castile admittedly isn’t sure whether to be disgusted, angry, or happy. Once, she had soothed his worries and bandaged his emotional wounds. It was a rare moment of vulnerability that he offered her. It blossomed into a friendship, but it faced unexpected turbulence when she watched the explosiveness of his and Sabra’s relationship. For the first time, Ilma witnessed Castile’s fiery temper.
He could see the revulsion and distaste in her eyes. It was painted across her entire face, but he didn’t care. Rage poured through his veins, and there was no stopping it.
They – Ilma and Castile – haven’t seen each other since.
Nonetheless, he addresses her. To reduce travel time, he takes to the sky but it feels far too incredibly short when he lands heavily in front of her. Nothing can prepare him for this reunion, but if he is uncomfortable, it isn’t at all conveyed on his steely face. Stern, regal even, Castile straightens himself in front of her and takes a final step closer. ”Ilma,” he tastes her name for the first time in months, playing with it along the edges of his tongue, but it doesn’t yet bring a smile to his lips. Admittedly, he half expects her to be here in defense of Sabra. The memory hangs thickly in his mind, molasses – always there, sluggish to fade away. ”What brings you to Loess?” A more amiable greeting counters this in his mind, threatens to surface afterward to soften the edge of his voice, but he suppresses it with a swallow.
Until she states her purpose – until she admits that it is separate from their previous meeting – Castile remains stoic, defensive even.
Her scent carries on the autumn gale, and Castile admittedly isn’t sure whether to be disgusted, angry, or happy. Once, she had soothed his worries and bandaged his emotional wounds. It was a rare moment of vulnerability that he offered her. It blossomed into a friendship, but it faced unexpected turbulence when she watched the explosiveness of his and Sabra’s relationship. For the first time, Ilma witnessed Castile’s fiery temper.
He could see the revulsion and distaste in her eyes. It was painted across her entire face, but he didn’t care. Rage poured through his veins, and there was no stopping it.
They – Ilma and Castile – haven’t seen each other since.
Nonetheless, he addresses her. To reduce travel time, he takes to the sky but it feels far too incredibly short when he lands heavily in front of her. Nothing can prepare him for this reunion, but if he is uncomfortable, it isn’t at all conveyed on his steely face. Stern, regal even, Castile straightens himself in front of her and takes a final step closer. ”Ilma,” he tastes her name for the first time in months, playing with it along the edges of his tongue, but it doesn’t yet bring a smile to his lips. Admittedly, he half expects her to be here in defense of Sabra. The memory hangs thickly in his mind, molasses – always there, sluggish to fade away. ”What brings you to Loess?” A more amiable greeting counters this in his mind, threatens to surface afterward to soften the edge of his voice, but he suppresses it with a swallow.
Until she states her purpose – until she admits that it is separate from their previous meeting – Castile remains stoic, defensive even.
castile
@[Ilma]