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
(Freedom. True freedom)
Only for now…
(No, for eternity)
No…
The crawling voice in his head sneers arrogantly, embracing this change. Castile scoffs at the defiance, cataloguing this as a temporary and short-term obstacle. It – the draconic and primal counterpart – sinks its claws into the rare opportunity, unwilling to ever release.
They – Castile’s consciousness in tangent with his alter self – return to Loess upon nonchalant wing strides. In control (for now, the voice hisses), Castile returns home and steadies his eyes across the open landscape underneath him. Nothing has changed. There remains life bursting at the seams, an angry woman far from his grasp, and a child on the way.
His heart patters at this, with both excitement and regret.
And what better way to rile up his storming emotions than addressing a face once lost to him, a face he treasured years ago.
Unable to shift, Castile heavily alights on a hill nearby. A cactus breaks when his immense body settles on the space, its spines unable to pierce his scales. Paying it little regard, because his curiosity is far too consumed by her arrival, Castile slowly edges toward the face of a distant past. Smoke billows from his nostrils as his head snakes forward, lowering to nearly level with her own. ”Ilma,” he tastes her name for the first time in years, his voice a deep, vibrating growl. Each breath is a feverish rush of air, but as steady of a rhythm as his heart while it settles from the long flight.
(Let her see us for what we are)
This is not permanent.
His thoughts push away the snide voice, erecting a wall of defense to his own subconscious. Retracting his neck, Castile’s body crouches in front of her, a languid expression somehow softening the knife-sharp lines of his face. ”Hello, stranger,” his lips stretch back in a jagged smile, as his wings coil comfortably against his sides, waiting for the reaction or disappointment.
castile
@[Ilma]