04-05-2020, 09:03 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
I’m sorry.
The words tickle the edges of his lips and, for a fleeting moment, chokes him of air.
I’m sorry for what I’ve done.
I’m sorry I cannot remove the javelin.
I’m sorry for failing you.
He almost says it to her because it seems only right, but he hesitates upon seeing her sigh a breath of air when he withdraws from his initial offer. Unfortunately, his pride is still far too great to grovel at her feet. At least, he muses, he realizes all the mistakes he has committed, right? There’s remorse threading through his body when their eyes finally lock again, but he masks it behind steely resolve. It wouldn’t surprise him to know there is a tendril of satisfaction pushing at the edges of her thoughts when she watches the smoke coil from his nostrils. They have enough history to read each other, to know each other. Even as a brief silence creeps over them, Castile’s mind reels with his observations of her even as his eyes trace the length of the javelin and the rivulets of blood webbing down its length.
(Just a taste)
Castile’s tongue slips out, crossing across his flatlined lips to idly taste the air, to taste her. It’s so familiar, the iron-like tang of her blood. Didn’t he bite her once? Solace was clawed. Sochi remained unscathed. As peculiar as it is, there is mild comfort in knowing how her blood settles across his tongue and how it now creeps along the lining of his nostrils. He tampers any urges, focusing instead on her question as it hangs in the space between them. ”I miss seeing the boys,” he admits first, not yet answering her. A flash of his memory reminds him of both Raul and Santana, and how poorly of a father he was to them. It’s no surprise. As much as he wants to be a perfect father, he falls short every time.
The least he can do then, at least, is not fail Sabra again and abandon her at the riverbank. She reminds him of their sons together, of the life they had, and he finally nods his head when it seems as though he will ignore the question.
”Of course,” he states with a thoughtful nod of his head, ”Loess will welcome you with open arms.” But even as he agrees, he cannot help to wonder if the kingdom even accepts him anymore.
The words tickle the edges of his lips and, for a fleeting moment, chokes him of air.
I’m sorry for what I’ve done.
I’m sorry I cannot remove the javelin.
I’m sorry for failing you.
He almost says it to her because it seems only right, but he hesitates upon seeing her sigh a breath of air when he withdraws from his initial offer. Unfortunately, his pride is still far too great to grovel at her feet. At least, he muses, he realizes all the mistakes he has committed, right? There’s remorse threading through his body when their eyes finally lock again, but he masks it behind steely resolve. It wouldn’t surprise him to know there is a tendril of satisfaction pushing at the edges of her thoughts when she watches the smoke coil from his nostrils. They have enough history to read each other, to know each other. Even as a brief silence creeps over them, Castile’s mind reels with his observations of her even as his eyes trace the length of the javelin and the rivulets of blood webbing down its length.
(Just a taste)
Castile’s tongue slips out, crossing across his flatlined lips to idly taste the air, to taste her. It’s so familiar, the iron-like tang of her blood. Didn’t he bite her once? Solace was clawed. Sochi remained unscathed. As peculiar as it is, there is mild comfort in knowing how her blood settles across his tongue and how it now creeps along the lining of his nostrils. He tampers any urges, focusing instead on her question as it hangs in the space between them. ”I miss seeing the boys,” he admits first, not yet answering her. A flash of his memory reminds him of both Raul and Santana, and how poorly of a father he was to them. It’s no surprise. As much as he wants to be a perfect father, he falls short every time.
The least he can do then, at least, is not fail Sabra again and abandon her at the riverbank. She reminds him of their sons together, of the life they had, and he finally nods his head when it seems as though he will ignore the question.
”Of course,” he states with a thoughtful nod of his head, ”Loess will welcome you with open arms.” But even as he agrees, he cannot help to wonder if the kingdom even accepts him anymore.
castile
@[Sabra]