03-05-2020, 02:24 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
He has never forgotten Sabra, or the life they had together. Another ruined heart because of him, another life that he destroyed. They were fire and gasoline, their relationship having begun on the Plains. They shed each other’s blood, and Castile understood regret in the days after. That was long before this happened, before the draconic nature consumed him.
Somehow, her scent lingered on the skin of his peers. A dream, he assumed, because how else would she still be here without his notice? It’s just his imagination playing with him, toying with his tattered heart.
Yet, he draws it in now. It latches onto the lining of his nostrils, clawing at him until he brings himself to look in her direction. Castile’s head cranes slowly to the left where the river gurgles past, and that’s when he sees her on the opposite bank, staring back at him. They lock on one another with a plethora of emotions knotting their stomachs. If not for her scent, Castile would no longer recognize her; he would just as easily slip his gaze across her in his aimless search of solace. Alas, that isn’t the case. Something within him stirs as her scent attaches itself with her fierce expression, bringing cobwebbed memories to the forefront of his mind. The images of their lives together are fragmented, incomplete. His other half tries forcing them back down, but they are as persistent as Sabra herself. They have sons together, and he recalls an evening underneath Sylva’s trees. There is also a flashback of her limp body on a rocky outcropping off Nerine’s shore.
But he doesn’t run to her as faint recognition returns.
With narrowed eyes – he cannot help to wonder if this is, in fact, still a dream – he watches her from afar before inclining his broad head. A silent invite toward him despite the exposed, jagged teeth just outside the reach of his lips.
Whether she acquiesces or not, a hum rolls through him. ”A long time,” he merely states while kneading the soil underneath his claws, his voice hazy with distant memories that have nearly been lost. Yet, he can’t quite identify what ripples through him – anger, confusion, aching, loneliness – as their eyes connect and hold. After a moment’s hesitation, he asks, ”How are you?” although a part of him fears for her answer.
Somehow, her scent lingered on the skin of his peers. A dream, he assumed, because how else would she still be here without his notice? It’s just his imagination playing with him, toying with his tattered heart.
Yet, he draws it in now. It latches onto the lining of his nostrils, clawing at him until he brings himself to look in her direction. Castile’s head cranes slowly to the left where the river gurgles past, and that’s when he sees her on the opposite bank, staring back at him. They lock on one another with a plethora of emotions knotting their stomachs. If not for her scent, Castile would no longer recognize her; he would just as easily slip his gaze across her in his aimless search of solace. Alas, that isn’t the case. Something within him stirs as her scent attaches itself with her fierce expression, bringing cobwebbed memories to the forefront of his mind. The images of their lives together are fragmented, incomplete. His other half tries forcing them back down, but they are as persistent as Sabra herself. They have sons together, and he recalls an evening underneath Sylva’s trees. There is also a flashback of her limp body on a rocky outcropping off Nerine’s shore.
But he doesn’t run to her as faint recognition returns.
With narrowed eyes – he cannot help to wonder if this is, in fact, still a dream – he watches her from afar before inclining his broad head. A silent invite toward him despite the exposed, jagged teeth just outside the reach of his lips.
Whether she acquiesces or not, a hum rolls through him. ”A long time,” he merely states while kneading the soil underneath his claws, his voice hazy with distant memories that have nearly been lost. Yet, he can’t quite identify what ripples through him – anger, confusion, aching, loneliness – as their eyes connect and hold. After a moment’s hesitation, he asks, ”How are you?” although a part of him fears for her answer.
castile
@[Sabra]