10-21-2019, 02:20 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
”You are mistaken, Heartfire,” Castile calmly interjects, his voice a deep roll like distant thunder, ”I’m implying you brought them as protection since you were unable to single-handedly deal with Lepis, it seems. Her ambitions concern you. Worry you. That is why you are here.” The mischievous gleam in his eyes has returned, his smile brimming with amusement even as Vulgaris lunges with threats and insults. Admittedly, they hurt. The words repeatedly stab into Castile’s core, bleeding him out, no matter how stern his face remains to conceal the ache of betrayal. It takes every fiber of his being to suppress his temper, to douse the fire that typically burns within him. He wants to lash out in just the same manner, but instead, Castile pivots to face Vulgaris. A calculated step is taken forward, mere inches separating their faces. His eyes narrow disgustedly. ”You would think so low of me,” his voice hisses past his clenched teeth before swallowing down the outburst that threatens to erupt. ”You speak of hounds and minions, yet you are just that to Heartfire. A disloyal dog. I suppose she had a tastier treat than our friendship to make you turn so easily.” He never yells, never shouts. Despite the sharp venom coating his every word, Castile’s tone never rises.
Perhaps it’s the fact that he is defying their expectations that makes this so eerie, that he isn’t exploding as they anticipated. Other than the tension throughout their space and bodies, Castile suppresses much of his notable anger, surprising them. Somehow, with great effort, he is collected and observant, calculated and steadfast.
”Stop wasting my time with your threats, Vulgaris. Tomorrow, you could suddenly be Heartfire’s enemy. You’re as fickle as the wind,” it hurts to say this, to admit and accept that their friendship has burned into a pile of ash. With his lip curling into a sneer, Castile returns to Heartfire, meeting her as she edges toward him in intimidation.
He mirrors her.
Their muzzles are a hairsbreadth away. The heat of their bodies mingle, their breaths twirl together in a dance before dissipating into the cool air. His muscles pull taut like cords of rope, prepared for her, for anything The world disappears except for her as their eyes heavily lock. Not even Cyprin’s concern can break down the walls of his vision. ”This isn’t conquest,” he snaps, ”It is a matter of strength. A kingdom should be capable of protecting itself and its territories, and from what I have heard, Taiga has greater strength and numbers to accommodate that – more than Nerine.” Castile does not pull away. He looks down at Heartfire with animosity. ”Age doesn’t matter, especially when you are immortal, Heartfiire, so get your head out of your ass. There always comes a day when the student surpasses the teacher.” That day will come to him just as easily as it will Vulgaris and Heartfire. Their reigns will rise and fall, their teachings eventually fade in place of something greater.
It is fate. It is life.
”I support the strongest lands being a kingdom, and if that means Lepis has helped raise Taiga to surpass Nerine, then so be it,” the confession is there, suspended in the air for them to hear, but with a condition tied delicately with a bow. ”There is no conquest. Take your lies and false accusations the hell out of Loess,” standing still as a statue, his face ever near Heartfire’s, he waits for either their defiance or acceptance.
Perhaps it’s the fact that he is defying their expectations that makes this so eerie, that he isn’t exploding as they anticipated. Other than the tension throughout their space and bodies, Castile suppresses much of his notable anger, surprising them. Somehow, with great effort, he is collected and observant, calculated and steadfast.
”Stop wasting my time with your threats, Vulgaris. Tomorrow, you could suddenly be Heartfire’s enemy. You’re as fickle as the wind,” it hurts to say this, to admit and accept that their friendship has burned into a pile of ash. With his lip curling into a sneer, Castile returns to Heartfire, meeting her as she edges toward him in intimidation.
He mirrors her.
Their muzzles are a hairsbreadth away. The heat of their bodies mingle, their breaths twirl together in a dance before dissipating into the cool air. His muscles pull taut like cords of rope, prepared for her, for anything The world disappears except for her as their eyes heavily lock. Not even Cyprin’s concern can break down the walls of his vision. ”This isn’t conquest,” he snaps, ”It is a matter of strength. A kingdom should be capable of protecting itself and its territories, and from what I have heard, Taiga has greater strength and numbers to accommodate that – more than Nerine.” Castile does not pull away. He looks down at Heartfire with animosity. ”Age doesn’t matter, especially when you are immortal, Heartfiire, so get your head out of your ass. There always comes a day when the student surpasses the teacher.” That day will come to him just as easily as it will Vulgaris and Heartfire. Their reigns will rise and fall, their teachings eventually fade in place of something greater.
It is fate. It is life.
”I support the strongest lands being a kingdom, and if that means Lepis has helped raise Taiga to surpass Nerine, then so be it,” the confession is there, suspended in the air for them to hear, but with a condition tied delicately with a bow. ”There is no conquest. Take your lies and false accusations the hell out of Loess,” standing still as a statue, his face ever near Heartfire’s, he waits for either their defiance or acceptance.
castile
@[Heartfire] @[vulgaris]