East

The east side of the city is the very heart of Sacrosanct - it's unique skyline is a clash between modern sky rises and small Victorian-inspired storefronts. In the heart of downtown, the sleek colored glass buildings reign supreme though their old-world roots can be seen in the most peculiar places from the lamp post styled electric street light to the stone sidewalks. The old world architecture slowly returns the further from downtown you travel, however. It's here that magic thrives, it hums in every stone and can be felt in every breath. Often, newcomers to the city may become overwhelmed by such sensations but, eventually, it becomes an ever-present feeling that's hardly noticed.

What You'll Find Here

City Creek Center
Dark Hunter Department
Inner Sanctum
Red on the Water
Starlight Tower

we are one breath apart, my love


Posted on February 20, 2021 by isolt griffin
East

isolt griffin

I'm more alive than I've ever been


The fire-crowned woman leans gently into her husband in the moments that he whispers his comforts to the baby who lays within the cradle and false sanctuary of her mother's arms, struggling so valiantly against the insistent pull of her impending demise. It tugs at her, the subtle weight upon her eyelids as gentle as a beckoning slumber. Her father offers her peace, the very last gift that either of her parents was capable of giving. It is so terribly little and as such it does nothing to disrupt the tide of agony as it crests, obliterating the shores of Isolt's heart as Lillian's final breath takes its leave of her. It is an agony that sees her fall back against the familiar, sturdy planes of her husband's chest; agony that beckons forth the swell of crimson tears that she had, until now, been successful in abating for their daughter's sake.

It cannot be rightly said how long they linger there, the three of them- the miraculous family that should have been, the heft of her daughter remaining within Isolt's arms for an immeasurable time (though it could never have been long enough) before Renee once again enters the room. Her approach alludes to a tentativeness that is quite uncharacteristic of the so-oft commanding and austere physician, her demeanor oddly delicate... soft, as are the words she whispers to the pair of vampires. "Isolt," she offers, ensuring that the grieving mother matches her gaze before she continues, "there are things that we need to do for her. I need to take her now... I'm so sorry." She advances only a step further, but even this is cautious, even this is weary, for she knows that to rob any mother of her child was an inherent danger... but far more so when that mother was a vampire. Instinctively the line of Isolt's jaw pulls taut, her body hunching slightly into a protective arc around the still weight of her daughter, the spires of her fangs pressing against the tender insides of her pursed lips. "Please," Renee pleads in a tone that is as insistent as it is compassionate, hands outstretched as if some clandestine olive branch lays within her palms.

It is a series of precariously lengthy moments saturated with contemplation before Isolt moves, ever so slowly, to surrender Lillian's lovingly-swaddled body into Renee's hands- but not before she presses one last kiss unto the supple curve of the infant's forehead. "I love you. I'm so sorry," she whispers into the barely-visible wisps of their daughter's hair, inhaling one last deep draw of the powdery newness. A thousand years would not decay this memory, both the triumphant and the tragic. As Renee exits the room Isolt is helpless against the incessant call to collapse, to shrivel just as their hopes had done, and so she folds in upon herself, her torso pressing against her knees as her forehead falls unto the creased, threadbare sheets of the hospital bed. Both hands move to clench in a most painful fashion into her mess of ginger locks, her frame set to trembling a mere moment before a heart-breaking, deeply forlorn series of cries explodes from her lips. Barely are they muffled by the worthless shroud of the bedsheets and naught does she do to stifle them. It is the most agonizing of noises, the cries of a woman robbed of the sweetness of motherhood. For a time Isolt can do nothing but merely allow them to overtake her, to rattle every atom, to fill every void now left gaping within her.

"I need to get out of here," she whispers as she finally rights herself, though trembling still, to turn ever so slightly towards her lover. "Can we go home... please?"

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