02-18-2019, 09:02 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
Her blood. If anything, that is what’s most familiar when Castile draws in a lungful of air. The iron tang claws against his nostrils and stirs a most primal growl to rise in his throat. Hunger churns within him immediately. A sideways glance confirms that he is alone, not even near a deer. Unfortunately, hunting will have to wait.
Another breath. Another taste of her clotted and dried blood.
Castile swallows past his instincts – predatory, reptilian – as the strength of the odor escalates. She, Litote’s victim (perhaps, lover?), arrives exuberantly. Despite a limp from her recent rendezvous – he observes her shoulder and leg fleetingly – Kensa arrives with the summer wind. It tousles her mane and frames her forelock around the edges of her face. It’s no secret that she is beautiful. There is a delicacy that cradles her, but it reminds him of Solace. She, too, had been so kind and delicate with a kindle in her soul. She was the first one he hurt – physically, emotionally – and the memories race to him when he blinks following the primarch’s arrival.
A lopsided, bemused grin tips the corners of his mouth when she snips at him. Loessian, she calls him, and he shrugs in a silent agreement. ”That’s what I am, but not who I am,” he remarks coolly as he inches closer, stepping into the Hyaline grass. His wings ruffle against his sides as he tempts fate and her space. His muzzle reaches forward and hovers above her skin, threatening to touch the soft curve of her jaw or her arched neck. ”Actually,” he breathes, his voice husky and deep, ”I was thinking you could tell me a secret.” He retracts slowly, leaving a trail of smoke in his wake and spiraling from his nostrils. ”Despite having company,” he doesn’t turn his head to acknowledge the child. His mismatched eyes merely dart sideways in a silent implication. He can smell her on the wind, his predatory senses piqued inquisitively. ”I would like to know what Hyaline has been up to. It seems the monarchy has faced a little… turbulence…” Litotes has already provided the slightest amount of insight, but Castile craves to know more. One side of the story is never enough.
After a moment of reflection, Castile inclines his head although his intense, smoldering eyes never waver from her pretty face. ”Speaking of doorsteps, aren’t you glad I came knocking instead of trespassing?” He doesn’t accuse her openly, but it simmers underneath the calm surface of his question, letting her realize that she had not escaped his notice in Loess.
Another breath. Another taste of her clotted and dried blood.
Castile swallows past his instincts – predatory, reptilian – as the strength of the odor escalates. She, Litote’s victim (perhaps, lover?), arrives exuberantly. Despite a limp from her recent rendezvous – he observes her shoulder and leg fleetingly – Kensa arrives with the summer wind. It tousles her mane and frames her forelock around the edges of her face. It’s no secret that she is beautiful. There is a delicacy that cradles her, but it reminds him of Solace. She, too, had been so kind and delicate with a kindle in her soul. She was the first one he hurt – physically, emotionally – and the memories race to him when he blinks following the primarch’s arrival.
A lopsided, bemused grin tips the corners of his mouth when she snips at him. Loessian, she calls him, and he shrugs in a silent agreement. ”That’s what I am, but not who I am,” he remarks coolly as he inches closer, stepping into the Hyaline grass. His wings ruffle against his sides as he tempts fate and her space. His muzzle reaches forward and hovers above her skin, threatening to touch the soft curve of her jaw or her arched neck. ”Actually,” he breathes, his voice husky and deep, ”I was thinking you could tell me a secret.” He retracts slowly, leaving a trail of smoke in his wake and spiraling from his nostrils. ”Despite having company,” he doesn’t turn his head to acknowledge the child. His mismatched eyes merely dart sideways in a silent implication. He can smell her on the wind, his predatory senses piqued inquisitively. ”I would like to know what Hyaline has been up to. It seems the monarchy has faced a little… turbulence…” Litotes has already provided the slightest amount of insight, but Castile craves to know more. One side of the story is never enough.
After a moment of reflection, Castile inclines his head although his intense, smoldering eyes never waver from her pretty face. ”Speaking of doorsteps, aren’t you glad I came knocking instead of trespassing?” He doesn’t accuse her openly, but it simmers underneath the calm surface of his question, letting her realize that she had not escaped his notice in Loess.
castile
@[Kensa] @[Astarielle]