03-06-2020, 10:01 AM
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
Sphinx-like, Castile watches Sabra’s reaction to his movement. His legs are tucked underneath, his tail curling back around himself. The horns protruding from his skull are his crown, taking the place of Loess. Even in his resignation, he is proud. Arrogance brushes across his face when he turns to look across the river lands and catalogues the number of bodies surrounding them. In the time that Sabra takes to wade through the river, Castile opens his mind to their surroundings once more, but it once again tunnels as the space between them narrows.
They’re both stubborn, a trait reflected in their hesitation to bend. Their conversation thus far is calculated, facetious even, and yet it’s enough to recall more memories of what they once were – of what they will never be again. Neither want to buckle. They halt at arm’s length, refusing to open themselves to more pain. They’ve learned. Time and experience have made them wiser, but also colder. Scars web across their hearts. A coarseness edges their voices. Of course, they are guarded, but the touch of familiarity lifts the corners of their mouths in feeble grins. Is their laughter genuine? Perhaps not, but it’s more than Castile has shown as of late.
He notices how her eyes switch to his tail, and he turns his head to follow her gaze. A hum is his only response as he remembers Ruinam pulling him down through the sky. ”Fighters until the day we day,” he remarks, knowing that they will never truly fall to such mortality. Death has attempted to imprison Sabra more than once, and yet, she stands here today. ”What was it like?” He cannot help to ask her, disregarding how it may affect her. Will it grip her with fear, remembering it? Anger? ”To die,” he clarifies with a heavy sigh. Straia had told him in Loess that in order to live, one must die, and yet… he shies from the idea, unwilling to part with his physical body to float in an empty abyss where his ambitions will fall flat and irrelevant.
He’s not ready to give up the air he breathes to watch his body decay and become lost in history.
Shaking his neck, the bronze spines glint and reflect the sunlight. Flecks of color dot the space around him, his entire body having adopted the typical shade of his mane. It grants him a moment of thought, a moment to reminisce. ”Where do I even begin?” She confirms they have time, and he cannot help to agreeably shrug his shoulders. Immortals have all the time in the world, he supposes, but still he tries to abbreviate his life in just a few words. ”I’ve not changed,” he snips the end of the statement, torn between irritation and regret. ”Ambitious, making mistakes, and not learning my lesson.” A glance to the side offers him the opportunity to stare at a distant horizon where the river empties into the sea and where the sky never ends. ”It’s tempting to have the faeries rip out my heart, quite frankly,” it has only caused him anguish, after all. Such a fickle thing his heart has been. Even as he thought himself happy, settled, and content, it had different plans and once again betrayed him. Sochi is the first woman he confessed his love for. She may very well be the last, too.
It would be simpler to live and not follow the erratic whims of his heart. As much as he craves Sochi and yearns to mend what he has broken, seeing her steely, resolved face on the Mountain confirmed that she is done. She has given up on him.
And so he shall, too.
A deep sigh passes through him as mistakes play through his mind like a reel, switching quickly from one to the next. ”Still the same idiot,” he chides as an eyebrow lifts in disappointment before finally looking away from the horizon to Sabra. ”Hopefully, you’re not as dense as me,” but he cannot rip his gaze from the javelin or the way her ears twist to regard the voices haunting her. ”What happened?”
They’re both stubborn, a trait reflected in their hesitation to bend. Their conversation thus far is calculated, facetious even, and yet it’s enough to recall more memories of what they once were – of what they will never be again. Neither want to buckle. They halt at arm’s length, refusing to open themselves to more pain. They’ve learned. Time and experience have made them wiser, but also colder. Scars web across their hearts. A coarseness edges their voices. Of course, they are guarded, but the touch of familiarity lifts the corners of their mouths in feeble grins. Is their laughter genuine? Perhaps not, but it’s more than Castile has shown as of late.
He notices how her eyes switch to his tail, and he turns his head to follow her gaze. A hum is his only response as he remembers Ruinam pulling him down through the sky. ”Fighters until the day we day,” he remarks, knowing that they will never truly fall to such mortality. Death has attempted to imprison Sabra more than once, and yet, she stands here today. ”What was it like?” He cannot help to ask her, disregarding how it may affect her. Will it grip her with fear, remembering it? Anger? ”To die,” he clarifies with a heavy sigh. Straia had told him in Loess that in order to live, one must die, and yet… he shies from the idea, unwilling to part with his physical body to float in an empty abyss where his ambitions will fall flat and irrelevant.
He’s not ready to give up the air he breathes to watch his body decay and become lost in history.
Shaking his neck, the bronze spines glint and reflect the sunlight. Flecks of color dot the space around him, his entire body having adopted the typical shade of his mane. It grants him a moment of thought, a moment to reminisce. ”Where do I even begin?” She confirms they have time, and he cannot help to agreeably shrug his shoulders. Immortals have all the time in the world, he supposes, but still he tries to abbreviate his life in just a few words. ”I’ve not changed,” he snips the end of the statement, torn between irritation and regret. ”Ambitious, making mistakes, and not learning my lesson.” A glance to the side offers him the opportunity to stare at a distant horizon where the river empties into the sea and where the sky never ends. ”It’s tempting to have the faeries rip out my heart, quite frankly,” it has only caused him anguish, after all. Such a fickle thing his heart has been. Even as he thought himself happy, settled, and content, it had different plans and once again betrayed him. Sochi is the first woman he confessed his love for. She may very well be the last, too.
It would be simpler to live and not follow the erratic whims of his heart. As much as he craves Sochi and yearns to mend what he has broken, seeing her steely, resolved face on the Mountain confirmed that she is done. She has given up on him.
And so he shall, too.
A deep sigh passes through him as mistakes play through his mind like a reel, switching quickly from one to the next. ”Still the same idiot,” he chides as an eyebrow lifts in disappointment before finally looking away from the horizon to Sabra. ”Hopefully, you’re not as dense as me,” but he cannot rip his gaze from the javelin or the way her ears twist to regard the voices haunting her. ”What happened?”
castile
@[Sabra]