”We always seem to be changing,” he murmurs, lost in thought as he reflects on Ilma and how she considered him upon seeing what a different man he became. Has he changed again so soon? Is this a turn in the right direction, or the wrong? Castile blinks and drops his head slightly, his unruly forelock sliding across his face as he weighs the choices he had versus the one he made.
It was too late now, however. He, like Sochi, has blood on his hands.
But when he looks up at her and searches the rippling silver pools of her eyes, he doesn’t see regret. There is not a feebleness in her gaze or a regret that weighs her down or blemishes the ferocity of her pretty face. She stands proudly, accepting who – and what – she is, and Castile feverishly feeds on her inner strength. Her wry smile is met with his own and his pulse quickens. ”I’m no longer who I was either,” his flaws forged pain into his heart and it weakened him. His emotions were shackles tugging on his every step, a hindrance and reminder. Quickly, Castile was disintegrating into a shadow of himself as he was forced to face his mistakes.
He became weak, but not anymore.
”Sochi,” he echoes in a husky voice, tasting it gingerly on his tongue as his mismatched eyes dance across her. Castile should run now and avoid what may come, but he is drawn to her vivaciousness and honesty, letting it slowly melt his armor shield. A single step inches him closer, and he drinks in her scent another time, noting how intimately it mingles with the tiger from earlier. A shadowed smirk smears across his lips as their eyes briefly lock. ”Tell me what you are,” he breathes, entranced by her. A killer? A mother? Or simply a girl lost in the mind of a tiger some days? Shuffling his wings idly, Castile considers her with piqued curiosity.
”I often told those around me not to get close because I’m dangerous,” the heaviness of his voice bears memories spanning since his childhood mixed with a tone of fascination, ”but something tells me you aren’t a fragile little bird.” He shouldn’t seek comfort in the company of another woman (Sabra, he thinks) but he is rooted and unable to walk away.
It was too late now, however. He, like Sochi, has blood on his hands.
But when he looks up at her and searches the rippling silver pools of her eyes, he doesn’t see regret. There is not a feebleness in her gaze or a regret that weighs her down or blemishes the ferocity of her pretty face. She stands proudly, accepting who – and what – she is, and Castile feverishly feeds on her inner strength. Her wry smile is met with his own and his pulse quickens. ”I’m no longer who I was either,” his flaws forged pain into his heart and it weakened him. His emotions were shackles tugging on his every step, a hindrance and reminder. Quickly, Castile was disintegrating into a shadow of himself as he was forced to face his mistakes.
He became weak, but not anymore.
”Sochi,” he echoes in a husky voice, tasting it gingerly on his tongue as his mismatched eyes dance across her. Castile should run now and avoid what may come, but he is drawn to her vivaciousness and honesty, letting it slowly melt his armor shield. A single step inches him closer, and he drinks in her scent another time, noting how intimately it mingles with the tiger from earlier. A shadowed smirk smears across his lips as their eyes briefly lock. ”Tell me what you are,” he breathes, entranced by her. A killer? A mother? Or simply a girl lost in the mind of a tiger some days? Shuffling his wings idly, Castile considers her with piqued curiosity.
”I often told those around me not to get close because I’m dangerous,” the heaviness of his voice bears memories spanning since his childhood mixed with a tone of fascination, ”but something tells me you aren’t a fragile little bird.” He shouldn’t seek comfort in the company of another woman (Sabra, he thinks) but he is rooted and unable to walk away.
@[Sochi]