12-28-2018, 06:18 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 cannot offer you that,” he loathes himself as the words gravelly fall from his tongue in disappointment. The confession is stagnant and tense, idle, until his body contorts and shifts into a horse standing in front of Sabra. Defeat is painted across his face as their eyes meet. I don’t have my own land or home. I was leaning toward Nerine to live, but I hold no power or rank. Since the unrest and the plague, I feel even more lost and powerless.” Once, he had been a prince but mother never ensured a future for him. She didn’t offer him to another kingdom to solidify relations or secure his place in their ranks. Nayl believed in hard work. She expected her son to follow in her footsteps.
But he didn’t.
Too nomadic to gain a title, Castile is suffering from the poor choices of his life. In the process, he is dragging down those around him, including Sabra.
But as she elaborates her perspective of a home. It isn’t a physicality like a land, but a heart and family.
Idiot.
Castile casts his mismatched gaze aside as his heart crumbles. ”I’ve failed you in every way. I don’t even know how you could still want me.” Solace left him, too. Ciri chose Amet. It’s so clear now that he isn’t fit to be anything more than a fuckup, but he doesn’t want to succumb to his emotions – not again, when they are so raw and overbearing. He had been weak when he last lost grip on himself before. It won’t happen again.
But Sabra has a pull on him that no one else has.
”I want you to myself, but I want so much more as well. I want power. I want a land. I want my family in one place, together.” He breathes, but it’s a raspy and frustrated growl. Black smoke coils from his nostrils as his head slowly shakes. It shrouds his face for a long, tense moment until it dissipates and leaves his sharp, mismatched stare lingering still on Sabra. ”I’ve only been a fuckup my entire life.” Castile doesn’t retract into himself or crumble in the face of his woes. He just stands, placidly, and shrugs in acceptance – like this is his past, present, and future, like there is no way to change his path.
But he didn’t.
Too nomadic to gain a title, Castile is suffering from the poor choices of his life. In the process, he is dragging down those around him, including Sabra.
But as she elaborates her perspective of a home. It isn’t a physicality like a land, but a heart and family.
Idiot.
Castile casts his mismatched gaze aside as his heart crumbles. ”I’ve failed you in every way. I don’t even know how you could still want me.” Solace left him, too. Ciri chose Amet. It’s so clear now that he isn’t fit to be anything more than a fuckup, but he doesn’t want to succumb to his emotions – not again, when they are so raw and overbearing. He had been weak when he last lost grip on himself before. It won’t happen again.
But Sabra has a pull on him that no one else has.
”I want you to myself, but I want so much more as well. I want power. I want a land. I want my family in one place, together.” He breathes, but it’s a raspy and frustrated growl. Black smoke coils from his nostrils as his head slowly shakes. It shrouds his face for a long, tense moment until it dissipates and leaves his sharp, mismatched stare lingering still on Sabra. ”I’ve only been a fuckup my entire life.” Castile doesn’t retract into himself or crumble in the face of his woes. He just stands, placidly, and shrugs in acceptance – like this is his past, present, and future, like there is no way to change his path.
castile
@[Sabra]