02-24-2019, 07:05 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
Castile’s wait is brief, not at all long enough to alarm him. He is in the midst of observing the rolling fields and hills of flowers when she arrives. Her wings fold delicately to her sides after their use to soundlessly soar above her homeland in order to promptly reach him. In gratitude, he smiles and nods his head.
Concern reads on her face, and he can only imagine why. The infection runs rampant in his veins despite having allowed healers to temporarily soothe the symptoms. It isn’t enough. It will never be enough. And he shrugs with this confession when she mistakes him for a victim instead of a King. ”We have healers, but nothing has truly cured it,” but she is speaking of trying and so he doesn’t turn her away, ”but feel free to give it a shot.” Thinking about the plague psychologically makes him want to cough. The tickling sensation drums down the length of his throat until he swallows it down, pushing past the urge.
”I’m Castile,” he finally introduces after an idle shift of his wings and thoughtful blink. A lungful of her scent registers it to his memory while his gaze greedily memorizes every soft line of her face and feathers adorning her wings. ”Wolfbane and Lepis have long since stepped down. They appointed another man whom in turn handed me the throne.” He searches her for a reaction then, having known that he was required to spread the word of his ascension. While a part of him wants to add more, including deeper reasons for his visit, Castile refrains to allow the information to marinade.
Concern reads on her face, and he can only imagine why. The infection runs rampant in his veins despite having allowed healers to temporarily soothe the symptoms. It isn’t enough. It will never be enough. And he shrugs with this confession when she mistakes him for a victim instead of a King. ”We have healers, but nothing has truly cured it,” but she is speaking of trying and so he doesn’t turn her away, ”but feel free to give it a shot.” Thinking about the plague psychologically makes him want to cough. The tickling sensation drums down the length of his throat until he swallows it down, pushing past the urge.
”I’m Castile,” he finally introduces after an idle shift of his wings and thoughtful blink. A lungful of her scent registers it to his memory while his gaze greedily memorizes every soft line of her face and feathers adorning her wings. ”Wolfbane and Lepis have long since stepped down. They appointed another man whom in turn handed me the throne.” He searches her for a reaction then, having known that he was required to spread the word of his ascension. While a part of him wants to add more, including deeper reasons for his visit, Castile refrains to allow the information to marinade.
castile
@[Noah]