FeelCastiel closed his eyes and felt the rushing air pass over his clothes and face. In a moment the noises of the forest that had surrounded him were replaced with the distant hush of cars passing by and a clock ticking on a wall. His lashes opened to survey his surroundings. One of the curtains in the small motel room was slightly open moonlight shining in and catching the blue in his irises. On the floor lay a large bag and Castiel could just make out the butt of the rifle gun concealed inside. His gaze lifted from the floor to one of the two beds above it and the reason he had come. He stood motionless for some time in the middle of the room holding his stare. Eventually he moved closer. His feet didn't make a sound as he padded across the room and sat down on the edge of the bed opposite Dean. Sam turned over and murmured but didn't wake.More Like This
Castiel's eyes studied Dean's features. He lay so peacefully chest gently rising and falling under the sheets of the double bed. His breathing was b
Twisted FateMore Like This
It is the nature of the beast to survive, the personality of man to desire, and the temperament of the gods by which all things are encompassed. Life and death are all-consuming, merely a long red thread stretched out between the gnarled fingers of Fate as she watches on with empty, soulless eyes to the plights of humankind. She wants nothing, feels nothing. She is the cold-hearted reaper of death when a red thread is cut short, and the golden glowing goddess of new life as the thread is pulled from her magic spool.
At times, she is an old, twisted spinster, working her grizzled fingers to the very bone. Others, she is a handsome woman whose intrigue knows no bounds and with whom the very secrets of all things living lay. Meticulous in her endless work of tying, cutting, and weaving, forming the frightfully beautiful tapestry of life, she never ceases. Her work is never done. Life begins and life ends, all with her.
Ancient harpy of the River Styx. Awe-inspiring muse of Heaven. She is
Such Envy ConstruedMore Like This
Such envy construed from a dead, lifeless thing!
One would think I had taken too much of wine
Yet here I still lie, overcome with this dream
When the sensuous dawn and the morning are mine
I curse the sweet cloth that extends his form
So dark, yet inviting in its fibers of night
If the heart is the eyes, then his heart beats on
For his hand is my scepter and his being my sight
Such violence! Such envy! Are mortals so daft?
If a rose stabs itself on the thorns of deceit
I scream out my words, but you only will laugh
At the warring so bloody, yet blindingly sweet
If I lay me down tightly and rightly to sleep
Then dear Death will come tramping, as soon is his due
Announce my cold state, for the flesh will not reap
I am lying in arms so much sweeter than you