11-06-2018, 12:34 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 jagged – albeit eerie – smile stretches across his scaly lips as the feather-light weight of her curls into his side. Every fumble, every sigh, never escapes his notice. Sabra resigns her attempts to stand, finding better security folded into him like a newborn. A sigh escapes the confines of his lungs, the exhalation sounding like a winter gale but with the heat of summer. ”Rest,” the reassurance is a low grumble as his neck curls to allow his head to settle on the rocky ground adjacent to her. A slit pupil watches as she presses her lips to the hardened scales of his shoulder, keeping close to him despite the unnatural heat radiating from his core.
There is almost a tone of surprise in her voice, but also admiration, as she notes his unwavering presence. A slow blink of his eyes is the only indication of his consideration. ”I never left,” he eventually counters with a faint shift of his wing. ”I took you away. I brought you here.” The gravely sensation of his voice tickles him, the strangeness beyond his comprehension. Why is it more difficult to talk like this? Alas, he finds solace in the way they currently embrace and how he can shield her from the high winds and frigid cold. Therefore, he remains as is despite the clawing of his voice against his (long) throat.
”One of the rocky outcroppings. Offshore.” Castile lifts his wing and slides his tail aside so that she may cast her eyes across the plateau before it drops down into an endless ocean reaching far beyond their view. The sunsets are beautiful from here, he doesn’t add, not wanting to admit how many he watched alone with her body limp against him. To the eat lies Nerine, his home, his birthplace. But he doesn’t look at the kingdom, not this time. His mismatched eyes fall heavily on Sabra as he returns his wing and tail into place, almost chuckling as he does so. ”Already dead,” even as she rises from death, Sabra retains her fiery attitude. Fortunately, it isn’t warranted any longer. ”I killed him.” Admittedly, Castile is proud of the feat, but it has changed him.
For better or for worse remains undetermined.
A sudden solemnity washes across Sabra as she lets her mind trickle to what happened. Gingerly, Castile bumps her with his snout. ”But you did,” rolling the conversation into optimism, ”You beat death.” He never thought it possible, not after having seen it all play out, but here she is, talking to him and laying kisses into his scales.
There is almost a tone of surprise in her voice, but also admiration, as she notes his unwavering presence. A slow blink of his eyes is the only indication of his consideration. ”I never left,” he eventually counters with a faint shift of his wing. ”I took you away. I brought you here.” The gravely sensation of his voice tickles him, the strangeness beyond his comprehension. Why is it more difficult to talk like this? Alas, he finds solace in the way they currently embrace and how he can shield her from the high winds and frigid cold. Therefore, he remains as is despite the clawing of his voice against his (long) throat.
”One of the rocky outcroppings. Offshore.” Castile lifts his wing and slides his tail aside so that she may cast her eyes across the plateau before it drops down into an endless ocean reaching far beyond their view. The sunsets are beautiful from here, he doesn’t add, not wanting to admit how many he watched alone with her body limp against him. To the eat lies Nerine, his home, his birthplace. But he doesn’t look at the kingdom, not this time. His mismatched eyes fall heavily on Sabra as he returns his wing and tail into place, almost chuckling as he does so. ”Already dead,” even as she rises from death, Sabra retains her fiery attitude. Fortunately, it isn’t warranted any longer. ”I killed him.” Admittedly, Castile is proud of the feat, but it has changed him.
For better or for worse remains undetermined.
A sudden solemnity washes across Sabra as she lets her mind trickle to what happened. Gingerly, Castile bumps her with his snout. ”But you did,” rolling the conversation into optimism, ”You beat death.” He never thought it possible, not after having seen it all play out, but here she is, talking to him and laying kisses into his scales.
castile