02-17-2020, 06:47 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
Ilma peers up at him, unafraid by the pointed teeth that reflect her pretty face; she knows him too well, knows that even like this, no harm will come to her.
(Don’t make promises)
There’s an occasional draw to the idea of cradling her neck in his mouth, or splitting apart her tender skin with a single one of his talons. The urges are there, whispering to him, but Castile suppresses it for now. That is another side of him, a deadlier half that has rarely surfaced.
But still, it is there. Waiting.
A deep breath winds down into his lungs only to expel in a low chuckle. ”It would be interesting to see you as queen again, especially over my mother’s old home where the revived amazon women lived,” a clink punctuates the thought as he blinks to distantly consider the scenario, ”that’s a fierce little group.” Indeed, little. Many of the lands have quieted, a lull that so often happens only to be pursued by buzzing activity or great catastrophe. Which will it be, he briefly wonders before inclining his immense head to look once more at Ilma. ”It’s always flattering to know you cannot stay away from me for long,” a half laughter rumbles the ground underneath them, knowing well that it is far from the truth. Their recent conversations have left sour tastes in their mouths and years of separation.
Yet their paths always cross time and again.
The humor of their conversation melts and streams away. A heaviness weighs on Castile’s shoulders, betrayed by the heavy sigh that reeks of fire and brimstone. Seeing as Ilma already knows, he does not hold reservations or clutch so tightly the story. Sweeping his tongue across his long muzzle, his thoughts trace back to recent events. He did it to himself, and yet he loathes them for the repercussions. ”You obviously don’t know Sohi well,” the solemnity of his voice is startling in contrast to the ferocity of his appearance. Even made as a joke, it falls flatly. ”I’m not sure if she will have me back,” because who can love a fool? A damned fool. ”But Oceane and our child will be safe. I’ve known her destined for great things since the moment I saw her,” it may have been facetious of him to think so, as much of his bias initially lied in the bright array of colors splashed across her skin. Even aside, however, she has proved herself to be a key element in Loess, a conclusion that clouds his mind daily.
Ever curious and intuitive, Ilma presents the question that has rippled Castile’s thoughts as of late. Craning his neck, he glances back over himself in vain admiration. In amusement, he allows his scales to shimmer from their piebald pattern to gold, to teal, then a beautiful porcelain. ”A Dragon King. An exciting era, no?” His muscular tail sweeps and would have collided with Ilma if he did not halt it in mid-stride. ”My resignation looms, Ilma. I’m not worried about the perception of myself as this type of king,” little does he realize the magnitude of his actions in the Mountain. This experience, this permanent shift, changes him daily. Each hour wastes another memory or sense of judgment, only to be replaced by primal and predatory needs. It’s subtle now, for it is only the beginning, but Castile thinks not of his future in this body. It’s still too fresh, too new, and he basks in the power of it all.
(Don’t make promises)
There’s an occasional draw to the idea of cradling her neck in his mouth, or splitting apart her tender skin with a single one of his talons. The urges are there, whispering to him, but Castile suppresses it for now. That is another side of him, a deadlier half that has rarely surfaced.
But still, it is there. Waiting.
A deep breath winds down into his lungs only to expel in a low chuckle. ”It would be interesting to see you as queen again, especially over my mother’s old home where the revived amazon women lived,” a clink punctuates the thought as he blinks to distantly consider the scenario, ”that’s a fierce little group.” Indeed, little. Many of the lands have quieted, a lull that so often happens only to be pursued by buzzing activity or great catastrophe. Which will it be, he briefly wonders before inclining his immense head to look once more at Ilma. ”It’s always flattering to know you cannot stay away from me for long,” a half laughter rumbles the ground underneath them, knowing well that it is far from the truth. Their recent conversations have left sour tastes in their mouths and years of separation.
Yet their paths always cross time and again.
The humor of their conversation melts and streams away. A heaviness weighs on Castile’s shoulders, betrayed by the heavy sigh that reeks of fire and brimstone. Seeing as Ilma already knows, he does not hold reservations or clutch so tightly the story. Sweeping his tongue across his long muzzle, his thoughts trace back to recent events. He did it to himself, and yet he loathes them for the repercussions. ”You obviously don’t know Sohi well,” the solemnity of his voice is startling in contrast to the ferocity of his appearance. Even made as a joke, it falls flatly. ”I’m not sure if she will have me back,” because who can love a fool? A damned fool. ”But Oceane and our child will be safe. I’ve known her destined for great things since the moment I saw her,” it may have been facetious of him to think so, as much of his bias initially lied in the bright array of colors splashed across her skin. Even aside, however, she has proved herself to be a key element in Loess, a conclusion that clouds his mind daily.
Ever curious and intuitive, Ilma presents the question that has rippled Castile’s thoughts as of late. Craning his neck, he glances back over himself in vain admiration. In amusement, he allows his scales to shimmer from their piebald pattern to gold, to teal, then a beautiful porcelain. ”A Dragon King. An exciting era, no?” His muscular tail sweeps and would have collided with Ilma if he did not halt it in mid-stride. ”My resignation looms, Ilma. I’m not worried about the perception of myself as this type of king,” little does he realize the magnitude of his actions in the Mountain. This experience, this permanent shift, changes him daily. Each hour wastes another memory or sense of judgment, only to be replaced by primal and predatory needs. It’s subtle now, for it is only the beginning, but Castile thinks not of his future in this body. It’s still too fresh, too new, and he basks in the power of it all.
castile
@[Ilma]