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
Of course, he notices the rigidity in her body and how she doesn’t melt into him. There’s a reservation that he is unaccustomed to – at least, with her – and he tries not to wholly focus on it. A mistake, he considers quietly as his eyes shut in their embrace. A bad day, he offers himself as an alternative even as her heart steadily beats against the rhythm of his own. There’s disconnect, but he refuses to accept it, refuses to think there could ever be discord between them.
But he should know better than that.
Sochi is fierce; like him, she is a predator and far from ever being weak. Unsettled, she will admit it to him, but he glazes over the possibilities and ignores how he has failed her of late. The love is there, still feverish for her, and so he thinks little of it until they peel apart and is met by an eerie neutrality.
The mercurial silver of her eyes dulls, but there is a thoughtfulness brimming behind her unwavering gaze as it locks on him. He leads her into conversation, lying everything on a platter for her observance, but she doesn’t take as he thought. Everything rests idle, practically untouched and hardly noticed, for a long moment. Castile waits with bated breath until it catches and holds in his throat. His brows furrow, his mouth shadowing as it creases uncertainly. ”I’ve been to the meadow and the mountain, even Pangea, so I expect I’ve carried a lot of strange smells.”” A glance toward the western borders enables another moment of recollection as he thumbs through his whereabouts, but he is so blind, so ignorant.
Oceane doesn’t cross his mind, not when the heat of his body mingles with Sochi’s, not when he looks into her eyes and sees the family and life they’ve created together. But he touched her for the first time recently, pressed his mouth to her neck in possession while Ivar looked on in bemusement. Castile is greedy, but also protective since he is aware of the kelpie's past. After many elusive years, the truth surfaced what he did to Isobell - killing her beneath the surf before she changed.
Castile cannot - will not - allow the same fate to fall upon the shoulders of Oceane or any other Loessian under his guard.
But he remembers now how far he took it, how he caved to primal impulses.
Even then, he does not think of Oceane, not when Sochi's underlying tones resonate uncomfortably through him, demanding full attention.
But he should know better than that.
Sochi is fierce; like him, she is a predator and far from ever being weak. Unsettled, she will admit it to him, but he glazes over the possibilities and ignores how he has failed her of late. The love is there, still feverish for her, and so he thinks little of it until they peel apart and is met by an eerie neutrality.
The mercurial silver of her eyes dulls, but there is a thoughtfulness brimming behind her unwavering gaze as it locks on him. He leads her into conversation, lying everything on a platter for her observance, but she doesn’t take as he thought. Everything rests idle, practically untouched and hardly noticed, for a long moment. Castile waits with bated breath until it catches and holds in his throat. His brows furrow, his mouth shadowing as it creases uncertainly. ”I’ve been to the meadow and the mountain, even Pangea, so I expect I’ve carried a lot of strange smells.”” A glance toward the western borders enables another moment of recollection as he thumbs through his whereabouts, but he is so blind, so ignorant.
Oceane doesn’t cross his mind, not when the heat of his body mingles with Sochi’s, not when he looks into her eyes and sees the family and life they’ve created together. But he touched her for the first time recently, pressed his mouth to her neck in possession while Ivar looked on in bemusement. Castile is greedy, but also protective since he is aware of the kelpie's past. After many elusive years, the truth surfaced what he did to Isobell - killing her beneath the surf before she changed.
Castile cannot - will not - allow the same fate to fall upon the shoulders of Oceane or any other Loessian under his guard.
But he remembers now how far he took it, how he caved to primal impulses.
Even then, he does not think of Oceane, not when Sochi's underlying tones resonate uncomfortably through him, demanding full attention.
castile
@[sochi]