04-05-2019, 02:23 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
Castile understands the mystique of Loess, the curiosity that spurs outsiders to their border. There is something here, a greater purpose than the monotony of peace. Beqanna is quiet, eerily so, with so many pacifists holding the thrones. Although not a warmonger, Castile craves excitement and discord. His mind continues to frequently stray toward the Resort, imagining it burn and shrivel to dust beneath him. The want for havoc lingers, but he patiently bides his time and establishes himself here. Soon, however, he will need to move before the ones who opposed him filter out and disappear.
While the thought simmers beneath the surface, Castile has recently suppressed it. A dismissing nod pushes it to the back of his mind until this woman’s convenient arrival. Like a tidal wave, everything suddenly returns – the anger, the frustration, the surprise.
It takes everything in his power not to sneer at her, or to snarl and chase her away from the home has established for himself. Is that not what they did to him? He doubted his memory, thought perhaps she wasn’t present, but she contradicts his assumptions and pieces together his familiarity. ”So, you were one of them – part of that incestual clan,” this time, Castile cannot disguise the disgust in his voice as he remembers studying each of them with similar features and the same lavender shade. ”Why are you looking for interesting ground elsewhere after standing so tall for the Island?” She asked him a question, but he responds in turn before simply adding, ”Yes.” He doesn’t announce that he is King, that he is the kingdom overseer instead of a mere herd stallion. To boast it would be a glimmer of insecurity.
A king shouldn’t have to tell the world he’s king. They should simply know.
Just like they know he is a dragon.
Instinctively, she turns to face him as Castile edges closer. The space between them melts beneath the heat of his stare as his warm, smoky breath reaches like fingers toward her. ”You still haven’t told me your name,” he drawls when coming to a halt near enough to reach her if he wanted. His eyes gleam with mischief and curiosity. While he takes pleasure in unrest, he is admittedly not a cruel heathen. Slipping his scrutinizing gaze across her, he weighs her replies and considers her carefully. ”Tell me. Would they miss you in the Island if, we say, you never return?” A malicious grin quivers along the edges of his lips, fleetingly, before abandoning his expression to stoicism.
While the thought simmers beneath the surface, Castile has recently suppressed it. A dismissing nod pushes it to the back of his mind until this woman’s convenient arrival. Like a tidal wave, everything suddenly returns – the anger, the frustration, the surprise.
It takes everything in his power not to sneer at her, or to snarl and chase her away from the home has established for himself. Is that not what they did to him? He doubted his memory, thought perhaps she wasn’t present, but she contradicts his assumptions and pieces together his familiarity. ”So, you were one of them – part of that incestual clan,” this time, Castile cannot disguise the disgust in his voice as he remembers studying each of them with similar features and the same lavender shade. ”Why are you looking for interesting ground elsewhere after standing so tall for the Island?” She asked him a question, but he responds in turn before simply adding, ”Yes.” He doesn’t announce that he is King, that he is the kingdom overseer instead of a mere herd stallion. To boast it would be a glimmer of insecurity.
A king shouldn’t have to tell the world he’s king. They should simply know.
Just like they know he is a dragon.
Instinctively, she turns to face him as Castile edges closer. The space between them melts beneath the heat of his stare as his warm, smoky breath reaches like fingers toward her. ”You still haven’t told me your name,” he drawls when coming to a halt near enough to reach her if he wanted. His eyes gleam with mischief and curiosity. While he takes pleasure in unrest, he is admittedly not a cruel heathen. Slipping his scrutinizing gaze across her, he weighs her replies and considers her carefully. ”Tell me. Would they miss you in the Island if, we say, you never return?” A malicious grin quivers along the edges of his lips, fleetingly, before abandoning his expression to stoicism.
castile
@[Roma]