11-21-2017, 10:43 AM
In the eyes of the beholder…
A monster…
When Castile searches her eyes, his stomach lurches. He doesn’t know whether to succumb or to run.
No, he isn’t a coward. He can’t run.
Her thoughts are poisonous tendrils sinking further into his mind, clouding his better judgment. Karaugh wants him to be the monster that he is, for him to exploit his strengths and potential. Why though, is he so afraid to do so? The creature within is rattling the bars of its cage, screaming to be released, but the only indication of it is the occasional tremble wracking through Castile’s muscles as he desperately holds it down. Somehow, he knows that once surfaced, he will hardly be able to control himself. This is too much, too new, for him to fathom and harness. Standing before her is a stallion that enjoys the tranquility of seclusion, but deep inside him there is a monster that yearns for flesh, destruction.
Mayhem.
It cannot be tamed once released, he tells himself as he listens to internal roaring of his beast. Suppress it. He must.
But Karaugh.
She is in front of him, enticing him. Castile is unable to rip his eyes from her, drawn by the way she languidly slides with a smirk plastered across her lips. It’s spellbinding, luring him to swim in the deep auburn of her eyes and not taking quick notice to the fangs that rip through her gums and forebodingly press against his skin. It’s all seeming in one fluid motion and he freezes while her fangs threaten to puncture the flesh and draw the dragon blood from him. His breath his steady, his eyes watchful. He wants so bad to shift, to show her that he is something and that he is strong, but his attempt is feeble. Scales ripple down the length of his body, visible then gone within a heartbeat. They were a flash of obsidian and porcelain, mirroring the piebald pattern of his coat.
The scales don’t return, not yet, but a low growl crawls from the pit of his throat. ”You don’t want to be here when it happens,” because he cannot promise her safety, or even his own.
A monster…
When Castile searches her eyes, his stomach lurches. He doesn’t know whether to succumb or to run.
No, he isn’t a coward. He can’t run.
Her thoughts are poisonous tendrils sinking further into his mind, clouding his better judgment. Karaugh wants him to be the monster that he is, for him to exploit his strengths and potential. Why though, is he so afraid to do so? The creature within is rattling the bars of its cage, screaming to be released, but the only indication of it is the occasional tremble wracking through Castile’s muscles as he desperately holds it down. Somehow, he knows that once surfaced, he will hardly be able to control himself. This is too much, too new, for him to fathom and harness. Standing before her is a stallion that enjoys the tranquility of seclusion, but deep inside him there is a monster that yearns for flesh, destruction.
Mayhem.
It cannot be tamed once released, he tells himself as he listens to internal roaring of his beast. Suppress it. He must.
But Karaugh.
She is in front of him, enticing him. Castile is unable to rip his eyes from her, drawn by the way she languidly slides with a smirk plastered across her lips. It’s spellbinding, luring him to swim in the deep auburn of her eyes and not taking quick notice to the fangs that rip through her gums and forebodingly press against his skin. It’s all seeming in one fluid motion and he freezes while her fangs threaten to puncture the flesh and draw the dragon blood from him. His breath his steady, his eyes watchful. He wants so bad to shift, to show her that he is something and that he is strong, but his attempt is feeble. Scales ripple down the length of his body, visible then gone within a heartbeat. They were a flash of obsidian and porcelain, mirroring the piebald pattern of his coat.
The scales don’t return, not yet, but a low growl crawls from the pit of his throat. ”You don’t want to be here when it happens,” because he cannot promise her safety, or even his own.