Isola 004 - Tumblr Posts
⤜ starter !! *:･ﾟ✧ ╱ @thursdy
built of the earth, born of the divine ( carefully shaped by the hands of anu & aruru, a beast made of clay ) left to wander the earth with only the barest strings of purpose. the chains of heaven; meant to return a demigod to their own pantheon. how foolish that command was, for something which had no sense of self, had no understanding of the world around it but for the chiming melody of a priestess’ voice in their ear ( charmed into a human guise, made in her image ). how little they truly understood even then ( oh, but their purpose was now known having since been granted something similar to a soul — a piece of knowledge tightly grasped blooming into full understanding ). they had wished to walk amongst humanity. for that, they know, they had died.
their body was not their own, their existence not their choice.
it was interesting how, then, they had ended up here. further still born of a false war & left against all odds within the throne, should they not have been summoned for a purpose ? a discrepancy against the rest ( demigods & kings, the easy way with which all walked along the earth in light of its creatures ). they were born to notice the divine, not learn that of mortality, it should never have made it into their essence.
all of which is why that before them was so much more noticeable. the base components, of course, were easy enough — the simplistic gaze of that which knows little else could make out the form of a man sitting quietly on a bench. enkidu was not made of the same pieces that confined humanity into its pockets of understanding ( those driven by magic to fix that, reach a new plane, uninteresting to them ). no, instead they saw the slumped form of something much grander; shuffling between images & burning with the same divinity only granted by gods. the crackle of energy in the air easy enough to distinguish from the cries of the earth below ( barefoot in the cold wind of autumn, shock of summer a bright mark against the dull chill of reds & browns & the smell of decay; the earth claims all but they were no longer cursed to bear such ). the distant clash of thunder bringing a smile to their lips.
quiet steps, careful in their approach with bright gaze peering past the shell to the expanse beyond. oh, enkidu knew of the other careful creations of the universe, partaken in the magic the divine wrought ( a weapon, the carefully formed dirt turned sentience not the same as divinity shoved into something which can barely confine it ). gently their fingers touched the arm of the bench; white fabric blown in the wind, the echo of the earth in their chest.
❝ hello, I couldn’t help but notice — ❞ the magic in their veins thrumming in response, basking in how much it felt like the world before it lost it’s faith ( the age of gods shining in one being with relative ease ) ❝ — ah, you are one of them, yes ? built of the heavens. ❞
╰ *．CASTIEL.
CONTEMPLATIVENESS SINGS THROUGH : and reveals itself around the roots ; the crisp young leaf, bronze-orange ; the grass-blades tripping in lines, a resistant emerald unilluminated by light throwing shallow shade, but instead by streaks of sun flooding foliage as from founts. Between beam and gloom, they become updrawn : tan is heavyweight upon their shoulders, but they carry it well. Saffron and emerald and cinnabar ( they have observed the awakening buds before them, obstinate even prior to facing wintertide ) do not compare to grace-fueled sapphire.
Eyes that peer at the expanse before them, life waving aloft to its grain ; reverberant over the plain ; then settle on a voice that is seemingly uplifted by the breeze—and far from hideousness of hoof and horn. Far from wallowing deviltry and what may reek from a lair given to bones. Their brow is bent on them, and they admit :
❛ I intended to conceal it more, given the opportunity. ❜
They retell it inwardly : turning again to the ancient difficult steeps of Heaven, and there alone they pine ; the peculiar passions of their vessel-given heart tearing them and rending their being. And here they dwell, missing the heavens, and the white peaks ; that garden where smiles are afoot, and the light air of old. There, in their stead, finding the soft sweet sun of the vale ; the clouds which veil the skies when necessary, only when the rains must feed the streams of replicated life. Gates like a pure draught of wine.
( and so went the long road of good intentions. )
Still, Castiel is buoyed by curiosity, for they are like a white sunbeam from the dear bright earth. ❛ You are also transcendental. I am reminded of rained-upon soil, of early-morning dewdrops ; of breathing life into man until rose erases their pallor, yet that is not accurate enough. ❜
Perilous even here : daring to touch the nerve of CHANGE. Wisdom rising central in complexity despite change being on their wings to bud.
❛ Enlighten me. ❜
❝ conceal it more ? why should you hide what you are. humanity will always, eventually, wilt before you no matter your shape ( infinitesimal as you are ) — concealing yourself for their sake ? to walk among them, to learn of them & see their world is a blessing that will only last you so long. you do not seem to be one who has not already seen their worst & their best. it would do you well, I think, to respect your own creation in their wake. for whomever shaped you surely saw purpose in your form, no ? ❞ straightening up with a partial smile on their lips, kaleidoscopes gaze as ancient as the one before them. ❝ I do not think this is a place where you would benefit from concealment. it is taxing. but that is not the conversation you seek. ❞ ( they did not need eyes to witness this creatures light, the bright magnificence of divinity crafted immortality curling before them ); rocking back on their heels with a hum of consideration.
a song in a language oh so unfamiliar. the soft cadence of ancient thought ( tremor of the cosmos ) — a tune oh so much like their own sordid history. ishtar’s wrath upon the high heavens.
careful though, a curiosity innate to their crafted form. enkidu had never possessed mans distrust of knowledge ( their fear in shared wealth ). moving to sit next to the other; the sweep of natures promise, the breath of the planet in all things. ❝ ah, I believe this is not a question as interesting as you would imply. I am not of anything, truly, for my purpose has long since been fulfilled. I believe most would refer to a thing such as myself the same way one would look upon a vessel with to much magic left behind — godly residue, yes ? the leftover mark of something much more necessary to the careful balance. it is surely a sordid, unwieldy thing. but what of yourself ? I know my own form is crafted by the same soil I was grown from, but you do not seem born into the shape you inhabit. ❞