12-12-2018, 11:55 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
Isobell is here; she’s returned, finally, but she has deliberately tucked herself away into Ivar’s embrace. Castile, admittedly, wants to be angry that she never thought to find him, but his frustrations are suppressed by the sheer unconditional love blooming in his heart for her. There is only Isobell that controls so much of his affection. She has witnessed him at a most vulnerable, and tender, moment with her body folded delicately into his own. They, in his mind, are the most beautiful siblings with their laughter and smiles brightened by their own company. The yearning for her, for that happiness, spurs him into motion. Ischia isn’t his home and yet he navigates as though it were Nerine.
His eyes find her and her sweet scent confirms it when it delicately hugs the delicate lining of his nostrils. A shadow of a grin brings light to his rigid face, but it’s shadowed by his hesitation when he steps around the surrounding palm trees until she is near enough.
”My sister,” he whispers into the warmth between them as his eyes glide observingly across her, ”My sweet Isobell.” They’ve both undoubtedly changed with their maturity. There are puckered scars scattered across his skin, reading of his past battles, and a dark shadow that hoods his eyes because he isn’t the same loving boy that she knew him as. Blood is on his hands, disloyalty in his heart, and betrayal in his soul. Most days, Castile wonders if father would be ashamed of him? This isn’t the life he envisioned for himself, but the journey never goes accordingly. He has wandered astray so many times, each decision fruitless and leaving behind residual heartache and regret.
But she, Isobell, is the balm for his healing wounds.
Next to her, it all seems okay – that he isn’t entirely a fuckup.
Instincts urge him forward and to pull her into his embrace just as they always have. ”I’ve missed you,” he confesses into her mane, trembling eagerly with her pressed so close. ”Tell me,” he swallows the rise of emotion in his heart, composing himself and keeping strong even as his mind recalls their childhood memories, ”where have you been? What have you been up to?”
His eyes find her and her sweet scent confirms it when it delicately hugs the delicate lining of his nostrils. A shadow of a grin brings light to his rigid face, but it’s shadowed by his hesitation when he steps around the surrounding palm trees until she is near enough.
”My sister,” he whispers into the warmth between them as his eyes glide observingly across her, ”My sweet Isobell.” They’ve both undoubtedly changed with their maturity. There are puckered scars scattered across his skin, reading of his past battles, and a dark shadow that hoods his eyes because he isn’t the same loving boy that she knew him as. Blood is on his hands, disloyalty in his heart, and betrayal in his soul. Most days, Castile wonders if father would be ashamed of him? This isn’t the life he envisioned for himself, but the journey never goes accordingly. He has wandered astray so many times, each decision fruitless and leaving behind residual heartache and regret.
But she, Isobell, is the balm for his healing wounds.
Next to her, it all seems okay – that he isn’t entirely a fuckup.
Instincts urge him forward and to pull her into his embrace just as they always have. ”I’ve missed you,” he confesses into her mane, trembling eagerly with her pressed so close. ”Tell me,” he swallows the rise of emotion in his heart, composing himself and keeping strong even as his mind recalls their childhood memories, ”where have you been? What have you been up to?”
castile