12-03-2018, 04:43 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
Castile’s eyes drift shut when his muzzle brushes against Sochi’s forehead. A deep breath is drawn into his lungs, almost dreamily, as he memorizes every fiber of her being. Somehow, despite their predatory drive, there is a mutual tenderness shared, respect even. Their ferocity ebbs, softened by a sudden familial bond that tethers them.
This is what I missed with the twins, he quietly whines to himself in shame and regret. It wounds him to realize how great of a thing he missed with them. Sabra and Solace faced childbirth alone. In a whirl of black smoke, Castile abandoned them to their own devices – the two women he cared most about! – but he is present for Sochi, a practical stranger (but can they be anymore?). What had been an initial mistake created a fuel for him; it was a realization that it couldn’t – wouldn’t – happen again.
He is enamored by them with eyes softened by the delicacy of the sight. Reia remains adoringly pressed to mother’s chest but soon leans forward to hesitantly inspect her father. A low coo vibrates along Castile’s throat as his muzzle lowers to meet the child. They softly brush one another, their eyes briefly locking before Reia inches back and lies down. Like a tulip in the evening, Reia folds down and nestles against Sochi’s leg to rest peacefully. With a fatherly smile, he watches until Sochi’s voice reels him from his racing thoughts.
Uncertainty and confusion weaves into her voice, something he can so easily relate to as she confesses the hunger that growls inside her. It’s all too familiar, what she says, and so he nods with a knowing grin tugging at his mouth. There is in fact an anger, and an underlying need to hunt. It never goes away; nothing can suppress it. Over the years, Castile has taught himself to harness but accept it. A monster is what he is, what he will always be. As a boy, he thought he could hide from it, but it always lurked beneath the surface. Even when the water stilled and he assumed the worst was over, turbulence would rise again and he would be sucked beneath the waves.
”Just embrace it,” he finally says in a voice seemingly too nonchalant for the predicament, ”There is no hiding it.” Control it, he wants to say, but when it comes to mind his own inner voice growls to control her, to make her his own.
He swallows down that impulse, driving it as deep as possible in the crevices of his mind.
A fleeting glance to their daughter calms the jump in his adrenaline just enough to add, ”We can hunt together.” It would be an odd thing, but Sochi doesn’t quite know what he is, not yet. It would be a first experience to not be alone when his hunger peaked. Always solitary, he muses, it is the way of his inner workings, but he cannot resist the temptation of witnessing Sochi at her most powerful – famished, unstated.
Dangerous.
Castile’s mismatched eyes catch the dappled sunlight and gleam with a sense of mischief. ”I’ve willingly murdered one,” the confession adds to her own, reassuring her (just as it did him) that she isn’t alone. ”I made him suffer. I made sure he died slowly,” his body shifts, unsure whether to continue. Only Leilan knows the intricacies of his thoughts when it happened. Even when others witnessed and listened to the screams, Castile only confessed to Leilan how proud he actually was, and how sick it made him feel – but he enjoyed it nonetheless. ”I would do it again, but even slower.” His expression glazes with the memory and his lip curls in a snarl.
Klaudius deserved it, he doesn’t say.
He deserved it one hundred times over.
This is what I missed with the twins, he quietly whines to himself in shame and regret. It wounds him to realize how great of a thing he missed with them. Sabra and Solace faced childbirth alone. In a whirl of black smoke, Castile abandoned them to their own devices – the two women he cared most about! – but he is present for Sochi, a practical stranger (but can they be anymore?). What had been an initial mistake created a fuel for him; it was a realization that it couldn’t – wouldn’t – happen again.
He is enamored by them with eyes softened by the delicacy of the sight. Reia remains adoringly pressed to mother’s chest but soon leans forward to hesitantly inspect her father. A low coo vibrates along Castile’s throat as his muzzle lowers to meet the child. They softly brush one another, their eyes briefly locking before Reia inches back and lies down. Like a tulip in the evening, Reia folds down and nestles against Sochi’s leg to rest peacefully. With a fatherly smile, he watches until Sochi’s voice reels him from his racing thoughts.
Uncertainty and confusion weaves into her voice, something he can so easily relate to as she confesses the hunger that growls inside her. It’s all too familiar, what she says, and so he nods with a knowing grin tugging at his mouth. There is in fact an anger, and an underlying need to hunt. It never goes away; nothing can suppress it. Over the years, Castile has taught himself to harness but accept it. A monster is what he is, what he will always be. As a boy, he thought he could hide from it, but it always lurked beneath the surface. Even when the water stilled and he assumed the worst was over, turbulence would rise again and he would be sucked beneath the waves.
”Just embrace it,” he finally says in a voice seemingly too nonchalant for the predicament, ”There is no hiding it.” Control it, he wants to say, but when it comes to mind his own inner voice growls to control her, to make her his own.
He swallows down that impulse, driving it as deep as possible in the crevices of his mind.
A fleeting glance to their daughter calms the jump in his adrenaline just enough to add, ”We can hunt together.” It would be an odd thing, but Sochi doesn’t quite know what he is, not yet. It would be a first experience to not be alone when his hunger peaked. Always solitary, he muses, it is the way of his inner workings, but he cannot resist the temptation of witnessing Sochi at her most powerful – famished, unstated.
Dangerous.
Castile’s mismatched eyes catch the dappled sunlight and gleam with a sense of mischief. ”I’ve willingly murdered one,” the confession adds to her own, reassuring her (just as it did him) that she isn’t alone. ”I made him suffer. I made sure he died slowly,” his body shifts, unsure whether to continue. Only Leilan knows the intricacies of his thoughts when it happened. Even when others witnessed and listened to the screams, Castile only confessed to Leilan how proud he actually was, and how sick it made him feel – but he enjoyed it nonetheless. ”I would do it again, but even slower.” His expression glazes with the memory and his lip curls in a snarl.
Klaudius deserved it, he doesn’t say.
He deserved it one hundred times over.
castile
@[Sochi]
Gah me too