06-15-2019, 11:58 AM
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
”Well, well, well,” the drawling voice is cold, vacant of his usual amiability when he patrols the borders for outsiders. His mismatched eyes blaze to life when he realizes the man standing in their midst. Every face, every scent, from the war was meticulously memorized. Of course, Castile wants to remember every piece of the opposition, every individual that attempted to bar his way to success.
He, Aziz – though the name is unfamiliar – is one of them. There was a balk in his body that day before the wave of sod and rocks rolled toward Castile. That much, he can recall of this confused man as he uncertainly enters the lion’s den where his enemies recover and prepare for more chaos.
Castile stalks forward, his steps slow and precise as his unwavering eyes stab into the outsider. ”How wonderful to have you here,” he lies as the words slither past his lips into the warm, summer air. The space between them gradually closes until Castile draws to a halt, a comfortable space between them for conversation. Another breath is drawn into his lungs. He sifts through what is familiar, pinpointing Sylva as what drenched Mary, Sinner, and Velk during their visits. It gives a bitter taste to his mouth, like bile, but he swallows it down and suppresses the snarl that wants to tremble across his lips. ”Sylvan, hmmm?” His daughter was supposed to be there but has since fled the radar. He worries, but doesn’t ask. ”What made you want to join such a dead and quiet territory?” His frown pulls against the puckered scars of his face. ”Ambition? Certainly not excitement,” because that would be found here, not in the quiet forest. But he doesn’t add that, instead resigning to a brief pause.
He, Aziz – though the name is unfamiliar – is one of them. There was a balk in his body that day before the wave of sod and rocks rolled toward Castile. That much, he can recall of this confused man as he uncertainly enters the lion’s den where his enemies recover and prepare for more chaos.
Castile stalks forward, his steps slow and precise as his unwavering eyes stab into the outsider. ”How wonderful to have you here,” he lies as the words slither past his lips into the warm, summer air. The space between them gradually closes until Castile draws to a halt, a comfortable space between them for conversation. Another breath is drawn into his lungs. He sifts through what is familiar, pinpointing Sylva as what drenched Mary, Sinner, and Velk during their visits. It gives a bitter taste to his mouth, like bile, but he swallows it down and suppresses the snarl that wants to tremble across his lips. ”Sylvan, hmmm?” His daughter was supposed to be there but has since fled the radar. He worries, but doesn’t ask. ”What made you want to join such a dead and quiet territory?” His frown pulls against the puckered scars of his face. ”Ambition? Certainly not excitement,” because that would be found here, not in the quiet forest. But he doesn’t add that, instead resigning to a brief pause.
castile
@[Aziz]