12-03-2018, 08:56 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 will find her,” it isn’t a question of permission that is sharply barked into the space between them, but a promise more to himself than anyone else. It has been so long – too long – since he last nuzzled his sister’s face or pulled her into his side. For years, while they’ve been apart, Castile hoped that she would find him upon her return. Humming in the echoes of his heartbeats, he hoped that he would remain a priority to her, but it doesn’t seem to be true. Not anymore.
She has Ivar. She has a family.
Yet another in his life that has acquired everything he could ever want.
Castile remains reckless and nomadic. A failure in mother’s eyes. There is no land held in the palm of his hand, and no heirs. He wanders to wherever the wind leads him during his flight. While Nerine continuously calls back to him, beckoning him, it has since become questionable since the contagion. A realization hit him. His family are scattered across Beqanna because he hasn’t been able to provide a unified front. In a desperate attempt for love and life, Castile fucked few others but left the women responsible for the children’s upbringing and whereabouts. He fled when they needed him most, unlike Ivar who has time and time again been able to grab a land and mark it as his own. He has women, he has children. He has Isobell. Castile’s heart twinges when he hears his nieces and nephews – another failure of his brought to his attention. ”No,” he confesses through clenched teeth and diverted eyes – not angry at Ivar, but at himself. ”You, or Isobell, will have to tell me about them. I want to know them.” He was raised to love family and yet he has never before felt so isolated.
Some of his family is here, some in the Cove, some in the Riverlands, and some in Nerine. Sabra herself is tucked away on an outcropping of rock that he put her on – or, at least, her limp corpse. ”I isolated Sabra while she has been healing,” he answers nothing because Ivar didn’t ask much else about her and yet Castile still indulges him and extends his possessive nature. ”Admittedly, I want to keep her that way, and all to myself.” He blinks and stares beyond Ivar toward the open ocean. Sabra’s pretty face comes to mind and how she nestled against him when she awoke from her death as though it had been a simple nap. How cruel is it to keep her imprisoned for his own entertainment and selfish needs? He wonders, but doesn’t ask.
His attention is immediately retracted from the sea so that he may look again at his childhood friend. The muscles of his jaw coil like snakes beneath his taut skin. ”You killed her,” he confirms with a heavy breath while trying to imagine the day it happened. If only he was present. If only he intervened.
”Why?” He harmlessly growls, not intending his voice to fall so low and gravely. ”Why did you try to kill my sister?”
She has Ivar. She has a family.
Yet another in his life that has acquired everything he could ever want.
Castile remains reckless and nomadic. A failure in mother’s eyes. There is no land held in the palm of his hand, and no heirs. He wanders to wherever the wind leads him during his flight. While Nerine continuously calls back to him, beckoning him, it has since become questionable since the contagion. A realization hit him. His family are scattered across Beqanna because he hasn’t been able to provide a unified front. In a desperate attempt for love and life, Castile fucked few others but left the women responsible for the children’s upbringing and whereabouts. He fled when they needed him most, unlike Ivar who has time and time again been able to grab a land and mark it as his own. He has women, he has children. He has Isobell. Castile’s heart twinges when he hears his nieces and nephews – another failure of his brought to his attention. ”No,” he confesses through clenched teeth and diverted eyes – not angry at Ivar, but at himself. ”You, or Isobell, will have to tell me about them. I want to know them.” He was raised to love family and yet he has never before felt so isolated.
Some of his family is here, some in the Cove, some in the Riverlands, and some in Nerine. Sabra herself is tucked away on an outcropping of rock that he put her on – or, at least, her limp corpse. ”I isolated Sabra while she has been healing,” he answers nothing because Ivar didn’t ask much else about her and yet Castile still indulges him and extends his possessive nature. ”Admittedly, I want to keep her that way, and all to myself.” He blinks and stares beyond Ivar toward the open ocean. Sabra’s pretty face comes to mind and how she nestled against him when she awoke from her death as though it had been a simple nap. How cruel is it to keep her imprisoned for his own entertainment and selfish needs? He wonders, but doesn’t ask.
His attention is immediately retracted from the sea so that he may look again at his childhood friend. The muscles of his jaw coil like snakes beneath his taut skin. ”You killed her,” he confirms with a heavy breath while trying to imagine the day it happened. If only he was present. If only he intervened.
”Why?” He harmlessly growls, not intending his voice to fall so low and gravely. ”Why did you try to kill my sister?”
castile
@[Ivar]