08-12-2019, 12:52 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
He has been craving - needing - this very moment. It’s selfish to not think of the child that threatens delivery in this moment, but all Castile can think of is the warmth of Sochi’s skin and the softness of her eyes when they lock onto his. Days – weeks? – have passed since they sought comfort in one another beneath the charred canopy of Sylva. With her body neatly folded into his, she confessed what was happening, what would happen, and although anger loomed beneath his surface, he was somehow able to only show compassion. Life’s lessons replayed in his mind as he looked her over and observed her pregnant stomach.
Since that day, Castile has granted her time and space, waiting anxiously for her to return into his arms. Restless nights have worn him down in the meantime, but it isn’t enough to slow him down from seeing her breach Loess’ rocky borders and retreat to a far corner where solitude greets her in silence. Almost immediately, Castile descends with draconic wings unfurled ominously. His shadow falls across the hills until he spirals closer and closer, shrinking until a fraction of a shadow remains huddled underneath him.
His arrival is delayed in the grand scheme because the child is already slipping from the womb. Watching the tail end of the birth has Castile breathless, forgetting briefly that the foal isn’t even his, that it’s a product of rape. Every muscle in his body freezes, icing over with anticipation until his eyes remind him of what abomination has been developing inside Sochi. The shaggy, black coat unsettles him as he considers how often he has referred to Sinner as a mutt. And now there is one in his home.
The muscles of his jaws twist and grow taut as he clenches before Sochi can see him. Frustration bubbles as instincts urge him to destroy it and be rid of it, but his heart’s voice is louder. It shouts to him, demanding compassion to which he obliges.
Slowly, hesitantly, Castile takes his place at her side, even as she lies down with a startled look. He saw her lunge, saw how the iridescent blaze rattled her, but he says nothing of it. Instead, he quietly lowers his head to press his lips to her forehead, unable to keep from her any longer. ”I’m here,” he whispers before punctuating it with a tender kiss. Emotionally and physically, he is here with her. His metallic eyes occasionally flash to the newborn, but overall, his attention is locked on her, waiting for her decision and next move in this puzzling game of life and loss.
Since that day, Castile has granted her time and space, waiting anxiously for her to return into his arms. Restless nights have worn him down in the meantime, but it isn’t enough to slow him down from seeing her breach Loess’ rocky borders and retreat to a far corner where solitude greets her in silence. Almost immediately, Castile descends with draconic wings unfurled ominously. His shadow falls across the hills until he spirals closer and closer, shrinking until a fraction of a shadow remains huddled underneath him.
His arrival is delayed in the grand scheme because the child is already slipping from the womb. Watching the tail end of the birth has Castile breathless, forgetting briefly that the foal isn’t even his, that it’s a product of rape. Every muscle in his body freezes, icing over with anticipation until his eyes remind him of what abomination has been developing inside Sochi. The shaggy, black coat unsettles him as he considers how often he has referred to Sinner as a mutt. And now there is one in his home.
The muscles of his jaws twist and grow taut as he clenches before Sochi can see him. Frustration bubbles as instincts urge him to destroy it and be rid of it, but his heart’s voice is louder. It shouts to him, demanding compassion to which he obliges.
Slowly, hesitantly, Castile takes his place at her side, even as she lies down with a startled look. He saw her lunge, saw how the iridescent blaze rattled her, but he says nothing of it. Instead, he quietly lowers his head to press his lips to her forehead, unable to keep from her any longer. ”I’m here,” he whispers before punctuating it with a tender kiss. Emotionally and physically, he is here with her. His metallic eyes occasionally flash to the newborn, but overall, his attention is locked on her, waiting for her decision and next move in this puzzling game of life and loss.
castile
@[sochi]