12-10-2019, 11:32 AM
<center><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Fredericka+the+Great|Marcellus+SC|Special+Elite|Tangerine" rel="stylesheet"><style> .castcont {position:relative;z-index:1;width:560px;border:2px solid black;padding-top:20px;background:#061212;box-shadow: 0px 0px 20px black;border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;} .castquote {position:relative;z-index:2;text-align:right; font: 9px 'time new roman'; color: #f07e73;padding-bottom:20px;left:-10px;} .castmessage {position:relative; z-index:2;border-left:1px solid #f07e73;padding-right:50px;padding-left:10px;left:20px;text-align:justify;font:12px 'times new roman'; color:#AEB0AF;} .castgradient {position:relative;z-index:3;width:560;height:50px;top:20px;background: -ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(6,18,18,1) 0%, rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%);background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(6,18,18,1) 0%,rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(6,18,18,1) 0%,rgba(125,185,232,0) 100%)} .castimage {position:relative;z-index:2;width:560px;margin:-30px;} .castname {position:relative;z-index:3;color:#f07e73;font:30px 'tangerine';top:-351px;left:190px;letter-spacing:15px;text-shadow: 13px 0px 4px #AEB0AF;}</style><div class=castcont> <div class="castquote">and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left<br>a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was</div><div class="castmessage">
The world changes again and Castile’s eyes tightly shut. A reeling step back adds space between him and Craft as a sickening pit forms in his stomach. He almost asks why – why is this happening again? – but his voice never comes. Silence envelopes him until his eyes open to see that once again, the desert rippled away. They are still here, of course, but in front of them plays another memory. Quiet fascination grips him as he observes the intimacy between the two Queens before his orange eyes drop to Craft walking up to his side. <b>”That’s us,”</b> she whispers, choked with emotion as she sees the love in their eyes from generations past. Castile suddenly doesn’t matter to her, not when a reel of her life plays over for her to witness as an outside party. <b>”We fell in love,”</b> she confesses into the empty air, prompted by the way Castile’s gaze narrows on her. He says nothing, not yet at least. Beneath the sun – he sees it, but cannot feel the heat against his skin – they together watch the intricate beginnings of a love affair.
<b>”He murdered me,”</b> her voice is distant and eerily flat as she recollects that day in the deserts and what actually happened before this odd intervention. <b>”We died apart when we belong together,”</b> slowly, her amber gaze falls to the sand underfoot. It’s clear that her mind is spinning, but when there’s a moment of gathering, she turns on Castile and searches his eyes, bristling at how similar they are to Garbage. <b>”You’re related to him,”</b> her voice rises as anger heats her entire core, <b>”You’re just as cruel and awful as him! You have his eyes!”</b> She lunges despite the residual pain wracking her entire body from Garbage’s murder attempt. Successfully latching onto Castile’s neck, Craft attempts to engage in a similar match as moments prior. <i>”Get OFF!”</i> Castile snaps back at her before shying to his right, adding more space between them even as she persistently tries to attack.
That’s when the voice croons to him, advising him to unite them. There is no body associated with the words that slip like musical notes into his ears. A fleeting moment is spent searching for the source, but he is forced back to Craft as she kicks at him, bruising his shoulder. A primal growl reverberates through him, threatening her, but still she presses on. Easier said than done, he thinks to himself.
The oasis isn’t terribly far. It’s calling to them just as it had to him previously. <b>”Stop running away, coward!”</b> She yells at him in her determination to annihilate anything – anyone – related to her discarded son and murderer. <i>”You can be reunited again, just come on!”</i> He is leading her there, acquiescing to moments of battle before slipping away and closer to the oasis, knowing that she will follow. Her taunts are polished knives slicing past his skin, angering him with every passing second, but he is steadfast. She remains unharmed while small lacerations bead with blood on his skin. For her, for this, he is willing to sacrifice.
<b>”Stop lying to me. What’s done is done… We will never be together again,”</b> but they must have been together in death, weightlessly embracing each other when their hearts individually stopped beating.
Castile regards her through his labored breaths as he searches for an inkling of where the portal is.
Is it the oasis alone, or perhaps the water that tempted them so dreamily in the beginning?
When Craft lunges again at him, Castile’s jaws defensively clap together. <i>”Perhaps I am related to him. Perhaps I, too, have blood on my hands,”</i> she bares her teeth at him, loathing the idea that Covet (and even Garbage) somehow lives on in this fool. He tempts her closer with a foreboding hiss, noting how her amber eyes flash. <i>”But, there is perhaps a way to still reunite you. Stop being narrow-minded,”</i> the insult is salt to the wound as she edges closer, their bodies slipping beneath the foliage of the oasis. <b>”You belong in the grave with them. You’re no better than them!”</b> Emotions are high after all of this – she has relived her death and witnessed her love with Anatomy – and so Castile utilizes this. Stepping back to the edge of the water, he levels himself with her. His orange eyes flash defiantly and his lips quirk in a smug grin.
<i>”You have a chance to be reunited if you just follow—“</i>
<b>”NO!”</b>
<i>”If I’m wrong, and if she is not on the other side of this portal waiting for you, then we can discuss where I belong.”</i> Among the dead or the living he mutedly implies. <i>”You can beat my ass if this ends up being a trick to deceive you.”</i>
Craft weighs the opportunity, scaling together her hatred against her lost love. Taut muscles coil beneath her golden skin. She hesitates before finally agreeing with a distasteful curl of her lip. <b>”Fine. I’ll put you in the grave myself if you’re wrong.”</b> Castile’s lips tightly purse into a thin line as he slowly nods. <i>”Okay. Come on then,”</i> he looks over his shoulder to the water, desperately hoping that he is right about all of this.
</div> <div class="castgradient"></div> <img class="castimage" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/3a/f6/0c/3af60ca3191f811e43ba97ce40851796.jpg"> <div class="castname">castile</div> </div></div></center>
The world changes again and Castile’s eyes tightly shut. A reeling step back adds space between him and Craft as a sickening pit forms in his stomach. He almost asks why – why is this happening again? – but his voice never comes. Silence envelopes him until his eyes open to see that once again, the desert rippled away. They are still here, of course, but in front of them plays another memory. Quiet fascination grips him as he observes the intimacy between the two Queens before his orange eyes drop to Craft walking up to his side. <b>”That’s us,”</b> she whispers, choked with emotion as she sees the love in their eyes from generations past. Castile suddenly doesn’t matter to her, not when a reel of her life plays over for her to witness as an outside party. <b>”We fell in love,”</b> she confesses into the empty air, prompted by the way Castile’s gaze narrows on her. He says nothing, not yet at least. Beneath the sun – he sees it, but cannot feel the heat against his skin – they together watch the intricate beginnings of a love affair.
<b>”He murdered me,”</b> her voice is distant and eerily flat as she recollects that day in the deserts and what actually happened before this odd intervention. <b>”We died apart when we belong together,”</b> slowly, her amber gaze falls to the sand underfoot. It’s clear that her mind is spinning, but when there’s a moment of gathering, she turns on Castile and searches his eyes, bristling at how similar they are to Garbage. <b>”You’re related to him,”</b> her voice rises as anger heats her entire core, <b>”You’re just as cruel and awful as him! You have his eyes!”</b> She lunges despite the residual pain wracking her entire body from Garbage’s murder attempt. Successfully latching onto Castile’s neck, Craft attempts to engage in a similar match as moments prior. <i>”Get OFF!”</i> Castile snaps back at her before shying to his right, adding more space between them even as she persistently tries to attack.
That’s when the voice croons to him, advising him to unite them. There is no body associated with the words that slip like musical notes into his ears. A fleeting moment is spent searching for the source, but he is forced back to Craft as she kicks at him, bruising his shoulder. A primal growl reverberates through him, threatening her, but still she presses on. Easier said than done, he thinks to himself.
The oasis isn’t terribly far. It’s calling to them just as it had to him previously. <b>”Stop running away, coward!”</b> She yells at him in her determination to annihilate anything – anyone – related to her discarded son and murderer. <i>”You can be reunited again, just come on!”</i> He is leading her there, acquiescing to moments of battle before slipping away and closer to the oasis, knowing that she will follow. Her taunts are polished knives slicing past his skin, angering him with every passing second, but he is steadfast. She remains unharmed while small lacerations bead with blood on his skin. For her, for this, he is willing to sacrifice.
<b>”Stop lying to me. What’s done is done… We will never be together again,”</b> but they must have been together in death, weightlessly embracing each other when their hearts individually stopped beating.
Castile regards her through his labored breaths as he searches for an inkling of where the portal is.
Is it the oasis alone, or perhaps the water that tempted them so dreamily in the beginning?
When Craft lunges again at him, Castile’s jaws defensively clap together. <i>”Perhaps I am related to him. Perhaps I, too, have blood on my hands,”</i> she bares her teeth at him, loathing the idea that Covet (and even Garbage) somehow lives on in this fool. He tempts her closer with a foreboding hiss, noting how her amber eyes flash. <i>”But, there is perhaps a way to still reunite you. Stop being narrow-minded,”</i> the insult is salt to the wound as she edges closer, their bodies slipping beneath the foliage of the oasis. <b>”You belong in the grave with them. You’re no better than them!”</b> Emotions are high after all of this – she has relived her death and witnessed her love with Anatomy – and so Castile utilizes this. Stepping back to the edge of the water, he levels himself with her. His orange eyes flash defiantly and his lips quirk in a smug grin.
<i>”You have a chance to be reunited if you just follow—“</i>
<b>”NO!”</b>
<i>”If I’m wrong, and if she is not on the other side of this portal waiting for you, then we can discuss where I belong.”</i> Among the dead or the living he mutedly implies. <i>”You can beat my ass if this ends up being a trick to deceive you.”</i>
Craft weighs the opportunity, scaling together her hatred against her lost love. Taut muscles coil beneath her golden skin. She hesitates before finally agreeing with a distasteful curl of her lip. <b>”Fine. I’ll put you in the grave myself if you’re wrong.”</b> Castile’s lips tightly purse into a thin line as he slowly nods. <i>”Okay. Come on then,”</i> he looks over his shoulder to the water, desperately hoping that he is right about all of this.
</div> <div class="castgradient"></div> <img class="castimage" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/3a/f6/0c/3af60ca3191f811e43ba97ce40851796.jpg"> <div class="castname">castile</div> </div></div></center>