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
It’s only a matter of time until his ruse comes to a close and the curtains pulled back. Castile anticipated recognition by scent, but instead, it was a young boy thumbing through his mind.
(If only we had mind blocking like mother)
This has gone on long enough.
A deep breath escapes him, a plume spiraling from his nostrils toward the treetops high above. Thoughtfully, Castile watches as it gradually dissipates into oblivion until there is another exhalation to take its place. A drifting blink moments later concludes his musings, his attention latching back onto the string of trees spanning on both sides. Border patrol. It’s easy enough, but the trees often mask thieves. Shadows swallow the bodies of trespassers in a way that Loess never could. Admittedly, he misses the openness of his previous home and the simplicity of observing him from the sky. Here, he is confined, both by his decision and the lack of wing space.
With the fallen snow, the mare’s footsteps are muffled, but Castile still hears her. Acute senses – attributed to his hunter mentality – notice her almost immediately, but he waits patiently until she is closer before turning. Her words are hooks, catching him unexpectedly.
It was only a matter of time.
Castile faces her in his sorrel skin, allowing his nutmeg eyes to swiftly search her. A lopsided, boyish grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. In a heartbeat’s time, his skin ripples to that of its natural color. A band of gold shoots handsomely across his muzzle and the russet color of Rocky reverts to a piebald pattern. Notably, his eyes return to their natural, mismatched state of orange and silver. For the first time, Castile faces the mare as himself, without further deception. There’s something freeing about it, a weight lifted from his shoulders as their gaze meets. ”Truthfully, it wasn’t my intention.” She did not ask his name; therefore, not only does she know it, but she knows of him. A rolling shrug ripples through his shoulders as he reflects back on the past few weeks. ”Nash found me disguised as I was. I was just taking a breath, away from politics, thus the disguise.” Castile flirts with arrogance, so he obviously wasn’t ashamed of his identity; he just didn’t want to be recognized for once.
It's tempting to stretch himself further by exploiting his draconic self – shift his wings into vision, ripple scales across his skin, sharpen his teeth – but he continues to resist for her own comfort and sanity in this first official meeting. The urges simmer beneath the calmness of his face as he waits for further questioning.
(If only we had mind blocking like mother)
This has gone on long enough.
A deep breath escapes him, a plume spiraling from his nostrils toward the treetops high above. Thoughtfully, Castile watches as it gradually dissipates into oblivion until there is another exhalation to take its place. A drifting blink moments later concludes his musings, his attention latching back onto the string of trees spanning on both sides. Border patrol. It’s easy enough, but the trees often mask thieves. Shadows swallow the bodies of trespassers in a way that Loess never could. Admittedly, he misses the openness of his previous home and the simplicity of observing him from the sky. Here, he is confined, both by his decision and the lack of wing space.
With the fallen snow, the mare’s footsteps are muffled, but Castile still hears her. Acute senses – attributed to his hunter mentality – notice her almost immediately, but he waits patiently until she is closer before turning. Her words are hooks, catching him unexpectedly.
It was only a matter of time.
Castile faces her in his sorrel skin, allowing his nutmeg eyes to swiftly search her. A lopsided, boyish grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. In a heartbeat’s time, his skin ripples to that of its natural color. A band of gold shoots handsomely across his muzzle and the russet color of Rocky reverts to a piebald pattern. Notably, his eyes return to their natural, mismatched state of orange and silver. For the first time, Castile faces the mare as himself, without further deception. There’s something freeing about it, a weight lifted from his shoulders as their gaze meets. ”Truthfully, it wasn’t my intention.” She did not ask his name; therefore, not only does she know it, but she knows of him. A rolling shrug ripples through his shoulders as he reflects back on the past few weeks. ”Nash found me disguised as I was. I was just taking a breath, away from politics, thus the disguise.” Castile flirts with arrogance, so he obviously wasn’t ashamed of his identity; he just didn’t want to be recognized for once.
It's tempting to stretch himself further by exploiting his draconic self – shift his wings into vision, ripple scales across his skin, sharpen his teeth – but he continues to resist for her own comfort and sanity in this first official meeting. The urges simmer beneath the calmness of his face as he waits for further questioning.
castile
@[Izora Lethia]