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
Where did they come from? Their scents are overpowering, something new and yet old. Their voices, their eyes, their postures, speak of historic tales. One by one, they arrive much like the morning fog rolling in. From afar, he watches as they materialize and come to fruition, attracting others like moths to a flame.
The temptation rises in his throat, boils through his blood, but he stands in silent wait. His eyes flash with brooding curiosity until one amongst the crowd grabs his attention by the throat.
She is a figment of the past, he assumes, by the weighted stare that roves across the meadow and by the raven that so comfortably perches on her shoulder. Beqanna is in her blood, the familiarity bleeding into her confidence, but the world has shifted more than once and it’s not what she can remember. A deliberate, scrutiny gropes for any and all information around her. Castile, fascinated by her hooded eyes, steps forward and shatters his calculated hesitation. The shackles that rooted him break away and he looms like a storm, arrogant in his ability to live and destroy, much like her.
When he moves, a kindle crackles in his gut. He takes pause, recognizing the warmth that blooms throughout his body. It roils, flickers, coming to life. An instinctual beckon for it claws at his thoughts, but there is not enough of the flame to obey him or to sustain. Another step closer to the woman and there is a faint appearance of scales on his right foreleg, but it vanishes in a quick blink of his awestruck eyes. It’s returning, slowly, but not in full power.
A coy grin hooks and pulls the corners of his mouth while he releases the loose grip on the monster awakening. Is it her that spurs it back to life, or is his punishment edging towards its conclusion? Questions arise but go unanswered as he swallows his enthrallment and consumes the last bit of distance with large, confident strides. His mismatched eyes have already drunken her in, observed every curve of her body and noted the strength underlying her deceitfully subdued arrival. ”Have they started kissing your feet yet?” Immediately, his gaze flashes toward where she had previously been bombarded by gawking nomads, but then he looks at her again, leveling his steely stare on her own. ”I’m curious if you’re deserving of it though,” a teasing smirk arises from the stoic shadows of his face, somehow drawn to her and the unspoken tales mirrored in her eyes.
With mounting curiosity, he cannot help to already ask, ”Who are you?” as the kindle flickers again in his gut.
The temptation rises in his throat, boils through his blood, but he stands in silent wait. His eyes flash with brooding curiosity until one amongst the crowd grabs his attention by the throat.
She is a figment of the past, he assumes, by the weighted stare that roves across the meadow and by the raven that so comfortably perches on her shoulder. Beqanna is in her blood, the familiarity bleeding into her confidence, but the world has shifted more than once and it’s not what she can remember. A deliberate, scrutiny gropes for any and all information around her. Castile, fascinated by her hooded eyes, steps forward and shatters his calculated hesitation. The shackles that rooted him break away and he looms like a storm, arrogant in his ability to live and destroy, much like her.
When he moves, a kindle crackles in his gut. He takes pause, recognizing the warmth that blooms throughout his body. It roils, flickers, coming to life. An instinctual beckon for it claws at his thoughts, but there is not enough of the flame to obey him or to sustain. Another step closer to the woman and there is a faint appearance of scales on his right foreleg, but it vanishes in a quick blink of his awestruck eyes. It’s returning, slowly, but not in full power.
A coy grin hooks and pulls the corners of his mouth while he releases the loose grip on the monster awakening. Is it her that spurs it back to life, or is his punishment edging towards its conclusion? Questions arise but go unanswered as he swallows his enthrallment and consumes the last bit of distance with large, confident strides. His mismatched eyes have already drunken her in, observed every curve of her body and noted the strength underlying her deceitfully subdued arrival. ”Have they started kissing your feet yet?” Immediately, his gaze flashes toward where she had previously been bombarded by gawking nomads, but then he looks at her again, leveling his steely stare on her own. ”I’m curious if you’re deserving of it though,” a teasing smirk arises from the stoic shadows of his face, somehow drawn to her and the unspoken tales mirrored in her eyes.
With mounting curiosity, he cannot help to already ask, ”Who are you?” as the kindle flickers again in his gut.
castile
@[Straia]