shadows creep and want grows stronger; any

[Castile]

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

Castile’s resignation was not only from Loess.

His soul bled for days.
His heart shattered.

It was his own doing; he unraveled the perfect life they had because he succumbed to temptation like a starving dog eyeing a steak. Unfairly, he thought to hide the truth behind closed curtains, but it always comes out. It was only a matter of time until Sochi found Oceane and Alcinder. A lapse in judgment, he blamed, but the tigress had no room in her heart for forgiveness. One mistake, and she was gone.

Months flickered by, and Castile enabled himself to suffer. It was only fair to immerse himself in the pain – emotional and physical – as reprimand for his flaws.

Sochi told him to find her when this was over, when he was back to himself, but that hasn’t happened yet.

He wonders, will it ever?

Alone, Castile has found a small clearing in the forest. His body just barely fits in the limited circumference; his tail curls around his claws as they knead the soil underneath him. His head rests on a leaf bed briefly until a rustling noise captures his attention. It pulls him from the trance he has fallen into; his hollowed eyes peer up to see small twinkles of light blink in and out of focus. A beautiful serenity blankets across her, but somehow, Castile senses a similar pain in her. Their circumstances are different, but their souls are both broken, their hearts ripped from their chests. Her grief calls to his own.

Slowly, his immense head snakes toward her; she isn’t terribly far. Shadows cloak him, but from the darkness his mismatched eyes gleam. ”You might fall into the water if you keep staring that hard,” a deep pull of air is drawn into his lungs only to be exhaled in a half chuckle. A feeble attempt at humor, he admits to himself silently. ”Is it the memories that hurt you most, or the broken reflection staring back at you?” He has avoided looking at himself, refusing to see how his eyes have darkened and hollowed or how his mistakes have ripped him open. His wounds are raw and gaping, but to others – especially strangers – he is calloused and distant. A mask, that’s all it is, but battered souls always find each other in moments such as this.

castile

@[luster]