isolt griffin
Though her mind assuredly wanders a winding path to the other individuals present within this impromptu gathering, Isolt's dazzling azure eyes, her pleas, are for naught but the brunette sorceress who stands before her. A corrosive amalgamation of guilt and duty have made her so, have dictated that she bare the truths of the matter outright as some obscure confessional no matter the reservations that her partner might have harbored. It has always been thus with Isolt, and not even the fortification of immortality could have her believe that she was in some way immune to or exempt from such contrition. Yet nothing is quite so troubling as the forthright and fleeting suspicion that she, this witch, would disallow the repentance of some blood-pilfering leech; the flame of the notion itself flourishing in the tinder of unobtrusively shrewd eyes. And yet, as some grand and limitless relief, it abates; asphyxiated by the true measure of the damage wrought upon the woman who sags into the cradle of Damon's arms. "Thank you," she offers in a breathy whisper, eyes remaining steadfast upon the brunette as she ventures forth, the redhead completely and wholly uninterested in the bickering of the few others gathered who comprise their makeshift congregation.

Only does her attention deviate with the weight of Raven's not-inconsiderable heft upon her lithe frame, a delicate hand venturing downwards to knot with the utmost care into the ashen pelt of the canine pressed into her side. It is a seemingly null gesture and yet it is an understated display of the fondness which Isolt feels for the female Were who had found her that fateful stormy eve. Raven had righted her, soothed her, when the world and its myriad horrific circumstances had sought only to floor her, and it was a selflessness that would not, for all the years that fate might bestow upon her, ever be forfeited from her memory. It is for this reason that her slender fingers coil into Raven's fur with such genteel care, an unspoken nod to a fondness unwavering. A fondness the recollection of which might have coaxed a simper unto her stress-drawn features were it not for the swiftly dwindling proximity between herself and the blonde Hunter. His closeness has every fibrous coil of muscle slithering about the bone, the glimmer of unadulterated distaste within his eyes as they cast their daggers at Damon seeing the young vampire shift closer to her companion in a fashion that is naught if not decidedly protective. She bore him no ill will, having found what brief conversation he had spared to be refreshingly thought-provoking; and yet these were but whispers into the metaphorical storm for all the chance they stood against her fondness for the elder vampire at her side. Deserved or otherwise, an attack upon this particularly trusted individual would hardly go un-refuted.

For a swift moment Isolt believes that the Hunter would truly seek retribution from her companion for the laxness of his tongue and the acidity of his words, the appearance of his surely whetted blade nearly serving to bring the spires of her fangs descending... until the pallor of her eyes fall to the item that had so successfully captured his interests. What she feels in this moment is everything and nothing, it is the airiness of relief and the brutal squelch of a dagger into her heart splicing into a singularly tumultuous sensation. The gloves are clasped protectively within her hands before she comes to realize that she wills it so, the phantom and faint aroma of a familiar perfume forfeited from the sleek suppleness of the studded leather. The realization sets her stomach to churning, coiling the organ into its own glistening knot. And, all at once, the details of her current reality seem to dilute, dripping from the veritable canvas of her present in smudged and distorted rivulets until there remains only one inquiry she wishes answered. An inquiry forced through a tight and painfully-knotted throat as Isolt holds out the gloves to the brunette witch, every syllable yet another stone in her weighted gut. "Where did you get these?"