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where the stolen roses grow - castile - Solace - 03-29-2018 Solace Weeks had passed and the marks he left on her body healed into smooth pink scars. But in her mind she brought Castile everywhere with her. He stalked her thoughts night and day, refusing to allow her the rest she needed. His image, the blinding spectrum of emotions she had felt during their day together, interfered with her kingdom obligations and diluted the contentment she found in completing her daily tasks. She could hardly hold a conversation without losing focus halfway through, and her easy smile was hard to come by. caretaker of hyaline RE: where the stolen roses grow - castile - Castile - 03-30-2018 What happened?
The question has been pestering him for days – or has it been weeks? – but he has thus far been unable to devise an answer. Castile was able to finally track his way home from Tephra’s volcano, his body weak, exhausted, and bloody. Loess was far beyond the sea channel, but minutes felt like hours as his wings trembled from exertion. He has been diligently tending to himself since then, soaking himself in the springs and resting as often as he could underneath the warm sunlight. Often times, he wandered toward Hyaline’s border where the lands kissed. Solace is just beyond the hills, he tells himself, but her pretty face is the last memory he had before everything swirled into a black void and was lost. In reality, Castile is afraid of what happened. Her face. He shifted. What then? A breath catches in his throat when he sees her looming toward the border he so aimlessly trails. The muscles in his body are pulled taut like ropes and his jaw clenches. Deep in his chest, his heart pounds dangerously against his ribs. Yet he hesitates. His metallic eyes dart toward the bosom of Loess, but they trace back to Solace again, unable to fathom the idea of abandoning her. There’s a magnetic pull that he cannot ignore, and before he can even tell himself to stay, his legs are already moving toward her. What stretches across her neck, however, isn’t what he expected. There’s an intensity in Castile’s stare as he scrutinizes the puckered scars on her body, but his gaze cannot help to soften when they level on her face. ”Solace,” her name is still honey on his tongue, ”what happened?” But his gut wrenches in fear – in half-knowing – that he did this to her. Solace’s face. Then his world went black. He attacked her. Those scars are from him. Emotion chokes him of asking more questions. Fear of himself – of the truth – keep him from pulling her into a familiar embrace. RE: where the stolen roses grow - castile - Solace - 04-03-2018 Solace
caretaker of hyaline RE: where the stolen roses grow - castile - Castile - 04-20-2018 The eyes that trace her scars aren’t the ones that hungrily bore into her in Hyaline. He is tame, and his expression is that of concerned tenderness. ”Solace,” he can’t help but to say her name again like it will take away his thoughts of what may have happened. The uncertainty reflects in his metallic eyes and she sees it well enough to realize his ignorance. ”Did I—“ he almost asks, but fear grips him and chokes him of finishing the question. While she reaches forward to him, Castile pedals back. ”Me?” He cannot fathom harming someone so dear to him. Is no one safe? Is he truly so monstrous? There is more emotion in his voice now than there ever has been. It rattles his core. He struggles to lift his eyes to hers. She should scold him, punish him… hate him. Like a child, he waits for something, anything, but the voice that follows is gentle and enveloped in bright hopefulness. Castile listens, evident by the way his ears swivel, but it isn’t enough to pull him from his deep shame and guilt. ”But it wasn’t enough,” he whispers, barely loud enough to be heard over the soft breeze, ”I hurt you.” Admitting to it shares the equivalence of two dozen knives burrowing into his body. Suddenly, every fiber of his being hurts and he just wants to retreat back into the darkness. It’s where he belongs, he tells himself, but then when he finally looks up into Solace’s eyes, he questions it. What place would the darkness be without Solace? But look at her. (Look at what we did) Castile holds his breath when he reaches to touch her as though she will disappear, as though it will be the last time. ”I’m dangerous,” he reiterates to her with a voice saturated in regret and sorrow. ”It could have been worse. I could have accidentally…” he can’t bring himself to say it, letting the statement dissolve unfinished in the intimate space between them. @[Lavender] @[Solace] RE: where the stolen roses grow - castile - Solace - 04-28-2018 Solace . . . |