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
”You should hate me,” he snaps, his blood boiling after having listened to her confession. This is what they’ve become – anger, regret, pity, and disappointment – and it’s seeping aggressively into his veins. His eyes flash to life and his lip curls. ”I am a fucking idiot! I’ve been telling you that as I’ve been dragging you down with me." Ultimately, it has been her choice to cling at his side when he returned, to take him back despite how he had abandoned her to raise their children alone. Castile has made countless mistakes, but Sabra has shakenly accepted him back every time. Slowly, it’s chiseling away at her. What’s left of her heart and forgiveness is disintegrating, but he cannot blame her.
To save her would be to run away, even if only temporarily.
In the blazing fire of their quarrel, Castile is surprised to watch Sabra lean forward and press her lips to his shoulder. Instinctively, his ears fall back and his head inclines just enough to see her loom nearer. A loving touch, it seems, and the rigidity of his body begins to melt away until the deceit comes to fruition and she is drawing his blood.
The heat of their conversation mingles with the burn of his wound, churning his gut. It brings to life the monster inside of him that has been comfortably coiled, waiting.
(Only a matter of time, it has hissed into his consciousness)
It all happens so fast – his teeth elongating and sharpening, his eyes flashing with slit pupils, and his scales rippling across his body – and it’s all beyond his control with the adrenaline pouring through his veins. Lightning-fast, almost like a rattlesnake already poised, Castile’s jaws clamp down on the crest of Sabra’s neck. He, too, draws blood. The coppery tang of it spreads across his tongue, awakening the primal need to hunt. It could all end right here.
(Just do it)
(It has been far too long since we’ve fed)
For a heartbeat, Castile’s eyes clench shut to savor the taste, but then he suddenly reels away. ”Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he’s battling again with the predator inside him, fighting to stay above and to not take this further. But the anger. The frustration. It builds like a wall and the primal beast within him barrels through to take over, desperately trying to take advantage. When his eyes open, he doesn’t see Sabra as she is, but instead her body heat – her thermal energy – and the pulse of her heart. Food. She looks like his prey. A snarl crawls from the pit of his throat as his left shoulder burns still from the pain of her bite. Blood trickles down his skin – the scales have since receded – and winds down the length of his leg.
(Like Solace)
(You hurt her first, now Sabra)
Shutting his eyes again – desperate to not see her as prey – Castile ambles backward and shakes his head. ”I need to regroup,” his words barely escape past his clenched teeth, ”I need Isobell.” And without elaborating, without saying who Isobell is, Castile flees. His wings unfurl – thin, membranous skin – and he takes flight, refusing to open his eyes until he is in the air veering to the southwest to return to the comfort and reassurance of his sister.
Again, running away like the fool he is.
To save her would be to run away, even if only temporarily.
In the blazing fire of their quarrel, Castile is surprised to watch Sabra lean forward and press her lips to his shoulder. Instinctively, his ears fall back and his head inclines just enough to see her loom nearer. A loving touch, it seems, and the rigidity of his body begins to melt away until the deceit comes to fruition and she is drawing his blood.
The heat of their conversation mingles with the burn of his wound, churning his gut. It brings to life the monster inside of him that has been comfortably coiled, waiting.
(Only a matter of time, it has hissed into his consciousness)
It all happens so fast – his teeth elongating and sharpening, his eyes flashing with slit pupils, and his scales rippling across his body – and it’s all beyond his control with the adrenaline pouring through his veins. Lightning-fast, almost like a rattlesnake already poised, Castile’s jaws clamp down on the crest of Sabra’s neck. He, too, draws blood. The coppery tang of it spreads across his tongue, awakening the primal need to hunt. It could all end right here.
(Just do it)
(It has been far too long since we’ve fed)
For a heartbeat, Castile’s eyes clench shut to savor the taste, but then he suddenly reels away. ”Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he’s battling again with the predator inside him, fighting to stay above and to not take this further. But the anger. The frustration. It builds like a wall and the primal beast within him barrels through to take over, desperately trying to take advantage. When his eyes open, he doesn’t see Sabra as she is, but instead her body heat – her thermal energy – and the pulse of her heart. Food. She looks like his prey. A snarl crawls from the pit of his throat as his left shoulder burns still from the pain of her bite. Blood trickles down his skin – the scales have since receded – and winds down the length of his leg.
(Like Solace)
(You hurt her first, now Sabra)
Shutting his eyes again – desperate to not see her as prey – Castile ambles backward and shakes his head. ”I need to regroup,” his words barely escape past his clenched teeth, ”I need Isobell.” And without elaborating, without saying who Isobell is, Castile flees. His wings unfurl – thin, membranous skin – and he takes flight, refusing to open his eyes until he is in the air veering to the southwest to return to the comfort and reassurance of his sister.
Again, running away like the fool he is.
castile
@[Sabra]
Up to you if you want to reply or end it here! Castile is just going to have his own little hiatus, regroup with his family, and figure out what he's doing with his life xD He's about to have a daddy-son chat.