The castle is certainly old, worn, has enough history that it had to be scrubbed clean of spirits more than once. From the entrance it looks like nothing else has inhibited it for years. But there are hints in the dust gathering in the entryway, years and years worth, layers building upon layers, but there's a drag here and there, large pawed strides that disappear down the hallway. There's no light. No heat, just cold darkness awaiting it's guest.
The castle is far from unoccupied. It's been home to one cursed being for more years than he cares to count. He doesn't often leave the west wing of the castle that he's made his own prison, spends his time pacing and digging through the library for ways to break a witch's curse. It's a solitary life. So much so that the sound of hinges from several feet away echoes like a bang to his sensitive ears that are used to hearing no other sound than his own, and the occasional ghosts.
He closes the book with a clawed hand and listens with perked ears that twitch with every sound.
A hunter. It's the first thing that comes to mind. And his fingers twitch angrily at his side. He'd almost happily meet his death if he could die. But it seems his curse isn't that simple to break. There's scars in various spots all over his body where he's tried, where others have tried. Nothing has worked. Now the pain just annoys him.
He stalks down the hallway, dirty colored tail stiff and fluffed out as he moves in almost perfect silence. He was quiet as a human, as a beast, he's nearly untraceable. He pauses on the upper level of the stairs, the dark a cloak for him, the pillar even more so. But green eyes flash even in the shadows as they follows the steps of the covered intruder.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 13 Jun 2016 01:43 (UTC)The castle is far from unoccupied. It's been home to one cursed being for more years than he cares to count. He doesn't often leave the west wing of the castle that he's made his own prison, spends his time pacing and digging through the library for ways to break a witch's curse. It's a solitary life. So much so that the sound of hinges from several feet away echoes like a bang to his sensitive ears that are used to hearing no other sound than his own, and the occasional ghosts.
He closes the book with a clawed hand and listens with perked ears that twitch with every sound.
A hunter. It's the first thing that comes to mind. And his fingers twitch angrily at his side. He'd almost happily meet his death if he could die. But it seems his curse isn't that simple to break. There's scars in various spots all over his body where he's tried, where others have tried. Nothing has worked. Now the pain just annoys him.
He stalks down the hallway, dirty colored tail stiff and fluffed out as he moves in almost perfect silence. He was quiet as a human, as a beast, he's nearly untraceable. He pauses on the upper level of the stairs, the dark a cloak for him, the pillar even more so. But green eyes flash even in the shadows as they follows the steps of the covered intruder.