10-18-2018, 02:20 PM
Their closeness opens the gateway to his curiosity. Her breath just barely feathers across his face as they look upon each other with predatory intensity. Castile notices now the gashes streaked across her chest, fairly new. The scarlet of her blood catches the sunlight and the coppery scent clings to the lining of his nostrils, teasing him.
(How easily would she break?)
The ferocity of her eyes is a telltale and enough to subdue the hunger deep in his core.
(She would fight)
And despite the thrill of difficult prey, Castile pushes away the thought and steps his own judgment forward and ahead of his hunger. He isn’t a cold-hearted killer, he muses, but the coiling of his gut protests. Blinking, he grips onto her admission, enjoying that he is not alone – not entirely. The sharp edges of his face soften, barely, but he sympathizes with her. Even as she looks up at him, then through him, Castile remains unyielding as he tries to read her face. He catches himself from losing his thoughts staring into the molten pools of silver that are her eyes. There are tales within them; they’ve seen a number of things. ”It’s surreal, no?” He asks, blinking slowly as he, too, tries to grope for the memory but it always remains just out of reach. Sabra was murdered and raped. That’s when everything blurred. When he came to, there was a corpse lying charred on the ground and split open. He grabbed Sabra and fled.
He doesn’t remember what happened, but he knew that he had committed the murder with spectators all around.
”I never thought myself capable. Did you?” The days of innocence have ended. They will see him as a monster, a killer.
(That’s what we are)
But this girl, whom remains without a name, applies a balm on his wounds with the thoughtfulness of her words. Castile didn’t realize he was holding his breath. It releases into the air between them, relaxing all the tension throughout his body. Everything melts. ”I’m not either,” he admits, his voice softer, a low murmur for only her to hear. The realization sobers him, but it isn’t enough to hide the feeble grin quivering across his lips. ”I suppose you’re right,” some deserve to be killed, he echoes to himself, trying to reassure himself. Klaudius certainly deserved it, right? The charred image flashes across the back of his eyelids when Castile blinks. He did that. But then he remembers what he witnessed and Sabra’s limp body. His heart was torn from his chest in that moment.
In spite of the heartache, Castile holds himself steadily, never giving her reason to question. The pain doesn’t reflect in his eyes or choke him; he won’t allow it to surface. With a deep breath that decimates the smoke in his lungs, he finally addresses what he’s most curious about. ”Your name, what is it?” He fumbles over himself slightly, but tries to recover by simply adding, ”I’m Castile.”
(How easily would she break?)
The ferocity of her eyes is a telltale and enough to subdue the hunger deep in his core.
(She would fight)
And despite the thrill of difficult prey, Castile pushes away the thought and steps his own judgment forward and ahead of his hunger. He isn’t a cold-hearted killer, he muses, but the coiling of his gut protests. Blinking, he grips onto her admission, enjoying that he is not alone – not entirely. The sharp edges of his face soften, barely, but he sympathizes with her. Even as she looks up at him, then through him, Castile remains unyielding as he tries to read her face. He catches himself from losing his thoughts staring into the molten pools of silver that are her eyes. There are tales within them; they’ve seen a number of things. ”It’s surreal, no?” He asks, blinking slowly as he, too, tries to grope for the memory but it always remains just out of reach. Sabra was murdered and raped. That’s when everything blurred. When he came to, there was a corpse lying charred on the ground and split open. He grabbed Sabra and fled.
He doesn’t remember what happened, but he knew that he had committed the murder with spectators all around.
”I never thought myself capable. Did you?” The days of innocence have ended. They will see him as a monster, a killer.
(That’s what we are)
But this girl, whom remains without a name, applies a balm on his wounds with the thoughtfulness of her words. Castile didn’t realize he was holding his breath. It releases into the air between them, relaxing all the tension throughout his body. Everything melts. ”I’m not either,” he admits, his voice softer, a low murmur for only her to hear. The realization sobers him, but it isn’t enough to hide the feeble grin quivering across his lips. ”I suppose you’re right,” some deserve to be killed, he echoes to himself, trying to reassure himself. Klaudius certainly deserved it, right? The charred image flashes across the back of his eyelids when Castile blinks. He did that. But then he remembers what he witnessed and Sabra’s limp body. His heart was torn from his chest in that moment.
In spite of the heartache, Castile holds himself steadily, never giving her reason to question. The pain doesn’t reflect in his eyes or choke him; he won’t allow it to surface. With a deep breath that decimates the smoke in his lungs, he finally addresses what he’s most curious about. ”Your name, what is it?” He fumbles over himself slightly, but tries to recover by simply adding, ”I’m Castile.”
@[Sochi]