12-31-2018, 04:15 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
A single wing unfurls from his side and drapes reassuringly across Isobell, hugging her closer if it’s even possible. They seemingly merge into one being as they clutch so tightly to each other. Their voices are barely above a whisper, the intimacy saved between two siblings. Everything else in the world is paused as Castile’s gaze fans across his sister’s natural beauty and how it enhances when she smiles up at him (just as she always has). Mother and Father would be proud to see their children so close, their family perfect and complete in every way.
Black smoke billows from his nostrils, but the gesture is meaningless – almost a natural thing to him nowadays. It spirals and winds upward through the small space between them before fading and falling in suit with a soft wind. ”I will never be far from you, Isobell. I love you,” she is the only one that he has ever adored so sweetly, the only one who has never seen him lose to his inner demons. To Isobell, he only knows how to be tender and compassionate.
”I wouldn’t make our parents proud,” he confesses to her even after she reassured that he isn’t a fuckup or a failure. He wants to believe her, but struggles to when his memory replays his life every time he sleeps or blinks. ”I’ve hurt women I’ve cared for. I’ve abandoned them to raise our children alone. I’ve murdered.” His breath catches in his throat, knowing that she is unaware of the blood on his hands. Castile isn’t so perfect and kind – he is a predator, a monster.
Reaching toward her scarred withers – he doesn’t know the trauma it experienced – he brushes softly across the bald patch. Where there would be scales, there is nothing. The rest of her body is smooth, almost like silk beneath his lips. Castile doesn’t ask, because he has his own puckered scars and an ear that is just barely split from his previous battles. Assuming Isobell is a warrior herself – much like their parents – he says nothing while mulling over the idea of being here, watching his sister wrap so closely and intimately with his childhood friend. ”Perhaps,” he finally murmurs, his voice gravelly and deep, ”I need to refocus myself. I need to figure out what I’m doing.” And in slight resignation, and confusion, Castile angles himself and presses his forehead against her neck.
Black smoke billows from his nostrils, but the gesture is meaningless – almost a natural thing to him nowadays. It spirals and winds upward through the small space between them before fading and falling in suit with a soft wind. ”I will never be far from you, Isobell. I love you,” she is the only one that he has ever adored so sweetly, the only one who has never seen him lose to his inner demons. To Isobell, he only knows how to be tender and compassionate.
”I wouldn’t make our parents proud,” he confesses to her even after she reassured that he isn’t a fuckup or a failure. He wants to believe her, but struggles to when his memory replays his life every time he sleeps or blinks. ”I’ve hurt women I’ve cared for. I’ve abandoned them to raise our children alone. I’ve murdered.” His breath catches in his throat, knowing that she is unaware of the blood on his hands. Castile isn’t so perfect and kind – he is a predator, a monster.
Reaching toward her scarred withers – he doesn’t know the trauma it experienced – he brushes softly across the bald patch. Where there would be scales, there is nothing. The rest of her body is smooth, almost like silk beneath his lips. Castile doesn’t ask, because he has his own puckered scars and an ear that is just barely split from his previous battles. Assuming Isobell is a warrior herself – much like their parents – he says nothing while mulling over the idea of being here, watching his sister wrap so closely and intimately with his childhood friend. ”Perhaps,” he finally murmurs, his voice gravelly and deep, ”I need to refocus myself. I need to figure out what I’m doing.” And in slight resignation, and confusion, Castile angles himself and presses his forehead against her neck.
castile
@[Isobell]