07-18-2019, 10:14 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
(Break her)
(Teach her)
That voice – the one he has learned to control over the years – slithers into his head. It hisses vehemently, wanting more of her blood spilt across the forest floor. As anger rises in his chest – the fire that threatens to burst – the primal instinct to kill begins to shout. It grows louder and sinks deeper into his core, clawing his body in attempt to take control.
(Break her)
It would be so easy, so satisfying, but Castile freezes. His jaws clench and his eyes forebodingly flash as they bore into her. A solitary step inches him closer. There is hardly any space between his broad chest and her shoulder.
But then he stops. It isn’t worth it, not this time.
Her blood is already on his lips, her neck harmed by his jagged teeth that now recede. Scales vibrantly ripple across his body, but he turns abruptly away from her, catching his breath and suppressing the monster that’s rattling its cage inside his brain. The injury is enough. He has done enough. Out of aggravation, Castile’s jaws clap together and a brief pause tampers the fire in his soul until he is able to face Mary again, strangely composed. ”Don’t tempt me,” he growls as he stalks toward her, returning to his place near her as he considers the barbed question she asks.
(Rip… her…)
The voice is quieting in his mind, crawling into the catacombs of his thoughts. ”You did it to yourself, Mary, when you and Sinner openly defied your kingdom.” He doesn’t say that they defied him, that they challenged him, because it was an act against the crown, not the one holding it. ”You both are traitors and were dealt with appropriately,” the underlying ferocity of his voice strengthens, but he does not act against her, not yet. Mary is throwing rocks at him, daring him, but he refrains while he still has the energy to. ”I dare you to tell me that if the tables were turned, that you would not have evicted me from my own home, that you would not make my life an eternal hell.” Is it wrong for him to assume that she would? That she would be so smug and cold-hearted that she would happily try to rid the world of Castile’s influence? ”Sylva could have still been yours had you not betrayed Loess. Learn from your mistakes and stop pointing the damn finger when this was greatly your own fault.” His eyes narrow as frustration seethes and hisses past his lips.
(Teach her)
That voice – the one he has learned to control over the years – slithers into his head. It hisses vehemently, wanting more of her blood spilt across the forest floor. As anger rises in his chest – the fire that threatens to burst – the primal instinct to kill begins to shout. It grows louder and sinks deeper into his core, clawing his body in attempt to take control.
(Break her)
It would be so easy, so satisfying, but Castile freezes. His jaws clench and his eyes forebodingly flash as they bore into her. A solitary step inches him closer. There is hardly any space between his broad chest and her shoulder.
But then he stops. It isn’t worth it, not this time.
Her blood is already on his lips, her neck harmed by his jagged teeth that now recede. Scales vibrantly ripple across his body, but he turns abruptly away from her, catching his breath and suppressing the monster that’s rattling its cage inside his brain. The injury is enough. He has done enough. Out of aggravation, Castile’s jaws clap together and a brief pause tampers the fire in his soul until he is able to face Mary again, strangely composed. ”Don’t tempt me,” he growls as he stalks toward her, returning to his place near her as he considers the barbed question she asks.
(Rip… her…)
The voice is quieting in his mind, crawling into the catacombs of his thoughts. ”You did it to yourself, Mary, when you and Sinner openly defied your kingdom.” He doesn’t say that they defied him, that they challenged him, because it was an act against the crown, not the one holding it. ”You both are traitors and were dealt with appropriately,” the underlying ferocity of his voice strengthens, but he does not act against her, not yet. Mary is throwing rocks at him, daring him, but he refrains while he still has the energy to. ”I dare you to tell me that if the tables were turned, that you would not have evicted me from my own home, that you would not make my life an eternal hell.” Is it wrong for him to assume that she would? That she would be so smug and cold-hearted that she would happily try to rid the world of Castile’s influence? ”Sylva could have still been yours had you not betrayed Loess. Learn from your mistakes and stop pointing the damn finger when this was greatly your own fault.” His eyes narrow as frustration seethes and hisses past his lips.
castile
@[Mary]