04-30-2020, 10:39 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
Castile cannot suppress the broad smiles that stretch across his lips in the boy’s company. Conversation is airy and light; it isn’t weighted by politics or life’s mistakes. It lifts his heart from the shadows, extracting it from the web of melancholy that trapped it. Never did he think a mere boy – one that isn’t even his son! – would have such an effect on him, but there is proof in the brightness of his nutmeg eyes. ”It is,” he replies as his brows rise, ”I stood on those Nerinian cliffs when I was a boy, too. It’s very scary in the beginning.” Daunting, even. It was enough to deter Castile from utilizing his wings back then. The idea of plummeting to his death outweighed the chance of gliding to the shoreline below.
Obviously, he learned to fly one day. Was it in his rush from Hyaline to Sylva? The same time that his body tasted the sweet change of draconic alter ego?
”There will be no stopping you when you learn to fly. Explore every edge of Beqanna – every mountain, every island, every hill. You won’t regret it,” Castile was swallowed by his ambitions to have mindlessly explored as a child, but slowly, he gained knowledge of each territory. Life steered him in so many directions for so many reasons. He has shivered on Icicle Island, has climbed the volcano of Tephra, has kicked rocks down the barren valleys of Pangea. Better late than never, but he can only imagine how much more beautiful the world would have been in his childish, doe eyes. For a fleeting moment, Castile’s eyes glaze over with childhood memories, but his companion’s voice pulls him from reminiscing every time. The boy keeps him, mostly, in the present as Castile fabricates and flirts with lying. Should he admit who he is? What he has done? Swallowing, his decision is made for him before he can even blink. ”Taiga? I don’t believe I have,” but didn’t he visit Lepis once, years ago? But that was so far in the past, and it was as his true self and not a basic chestnut. ”I’d love to see it, if you’ll have me.”
Castile wanted to stray from politics and territories, but here he is once again sucked in.
Tilting his head, he immediately swims in his thoughts, groping desperately for a name that he hasn’t heard. He isn’t quite ready for their simplistic conversation and enjoyment to end, for the world to find him in his vacation. ”Rocky,” he says after a single moment’s hesitation, holding himself still proudly, ”I’m Rocky.”
Obviously, he learned to fly one day. Was it in his rush from Hyaline to Sylva? The same time that his body tasted the sweet change of draconic alter ego?
”There will be no stopping you when you learn to fly. Explore every edge of Beqanna – every mountain, every island, every hill. You won’t regret it,” Castile was swallowed by his ambitions to have mindlessly explored as a child, but slowly, he gained knowledge of each territory. Life steered him in so many directions for so many reasons. He has shivered on Icicle Island, has climbed the volcano of Tephra, has kicked rocks down the barren valleys of Pangea. Better late than never, but he can only imagine how much more beautiful the world would have been in his childish, doe eyes. For a fleeting moment, Castile’s eyes glaze over with childhood memories, but his companion’s voice pulls him from reminiscing every time. The boy keeps him, mostly, in the present as Castile fabricates and flirts with lying. Should he admit who he is? What he has done? Swallowing, his decision is made for him before he can even blink. ”Taiga? I don’t believe I have,” but didn’t he visit Lepis once, years ago? But that was so far in the past, and it was as his true self and not a basic chestnut. ”I’d love to see it, if you’ll have me.”
Castile wanted to stray from politics and territories, but here he is once again sucked in.
Tilting his head, he immediately swims in his thoughts, groping desperately for a name that he hasn’t heard. He isn’t quite ready for their simplistic conversation and enjoyment to end, for the world to find him in his vacation. ”Rocky,” he says after a single moment’s hesitation, holding himself still proudly, ”I’m Rocky.”
castile
@[Nashua]