11-11-2019, 03:33 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
Her immediate correction eases his worry fleetingly, but in its place, another arises.
Sochi reassures him that it’s his predatory nature, but at what blurred line does he cross into new territory? At what point is he a selfish monster?
With the confirmation of the faerie’s rejection and the rumors that litter the world like fallen autumn leaves, Castile considers retrogressing. It would be easier to fall victim to his instincts again, to rip the tether and become exactly as they see him. Even in his kindness, in his charitable personality, they see only what lies beneath the surface and the havoc he can berth.
But then, he looks at Sochi, and the fire that yearns so desperately to roar from his mouth, settles into a weak kindle. It wouldn’t behoove her, or even their children, if he loses the grip that he has struggled so much to hold. Everything that he has strived to control so they could live harmoniously would slip through his fingers. He would become primal again, primitive, as his thoughts become enveloped by predatory necessities.
He thinks of Solace, then of Sabra. For a heart wrenching moment, his thoughts reminisce of their scars. They stood in his path when the creature within him unraveled and broke its chains.
A shuddering breath races through him, refusing to imagine Sochi in that same predicament, with blood lacing down her neck.
Without having realized, Castile’s eyes had fallen. He slowly blinks, retracting from the tar pit of his musings. Needing to see her, his gaze rises to meet hers and he accompanies it with a lopsided, boyish grin. ”I suppose you’re right,” he murmurs quietly, clutching desperately to the concept that he will never – can never – be prey. It’s mentality, he tries to tell himself, but he cannot resume his carnivorous tendencies in this body and not with these teeth. Pity stabs into him, ripping him open.
He drinks in another deliberate breath and forces his body to straighten underneath the kisses that she trails along his jaw. It gives him life and gives him courage despite how sullen and relentless his contrasting thoughts may be. A low hum courses through him, melting into her touch before resting his chin on the arch of her neck. ”How did I get so lucky to find you?” Sochi provides him strength when his own falters, and she breathes hope into his tormented struggles. Hearing the sharpness of her voice – though it is still endearing in their own way – he smiles more broadly now as hope bursts through the walls of his heart. ”I won’t apologize,” he whispers back, ”but I will thank you for putting up with me. I don’t know how you do it.”
Sochi reassures him that it’s his predatory nature, but at what blurred line does he cross into new territory? At what point is he a selfish monster?
With the confirmation of the faerie’s rejection and the rumors that litter the world like fallen autumn leaves, Castile considers retrogressing. It would be easier to fall victim to his instincts again, to rip the tether and become exactly as they see him. Even in his kindness, in his charitable personality, they see only what lies beneath the surface and the havoc he can berth.
But then, he looks at Sochi, and the fire that yearns so desperately to roar from his mouth, settles into a weak kindle. It wouldn’t behoove her, or even their children, if he loses the grip that he has struggled so much to hold. Everything that he has strived to control so they could live harmoniously would slip through his fingers. He would become primal again, primitive, as his thoughts become enveloped by predatory necessities.
He thinks of Solace, then of Sabra. For a heart wrenching moment, his thoughts reminisce of their scars. They stood in his path when the creature within him unraveled and broke its chains.
A shuddering breath races through him, refusing to imagine Sochi in that same predicament, with blood lacing down her neck.
Without having realized, Castile’s eyes had fallen. He slowly blinks, retracting from the tar pit of his musings. Needing to see her, his gaze rises to meet hers and he accompanies it with a lopsided, boyish grin. ”I suppose you’re right,” he murmurs quietly, clutching desperately to the concept that he will never – can never – be prey. It’s mentality, he tries to tell himself, but he cannot resume his carnivorous tendencies in this body and not with these teeth. Pity stabs into him, ripping him open.
He drinks in another deliberate breath and forces his body to straighten underneath the kisses that she trails along his jaw. It gives him life and gives him courage despite how sullen and relentless his contrasting thoughts may be. A low hum courses through him, melting into her touch before resting his chin on the arch of her neck. ”How did I get so lucky to find you?” Sochi provides him strength when his own falters, and she breathes hope into his tormented struggles. Hearing the sharpness of her voice – though it is still endearing in their own way – he smiles more broadly now as hope bursts through the walls of his heart. ”I won’t apologize,” he whispers back, ”but I will thank you for putting up with me. I don’t know how you do it.”
castile
@[sochi]