isolt griffin

I'm more alive than I've ever been

"This is all I have left," Isolt laments softly, eyes skating nostalgically over the glossy veneers of the photographs scattered about the table. It was a mosaic of camping trips, sleep-overs, snapshots of the pair at raucous parties that Harley had (no doubt) insisted they attend, graduations, and dozens of other solitary moments forever epitomized upon aging paper. What was perhaps equally as important, though, were the moments not pictured, the moments that had gone uncaptured by the lense of a camera; the moments that lay between those sprawled out for their perusal but were just as prominent, surely, in the memories of both women. Catastrophic relationships, brutal break-ups, the untimely deaths of Isolt's brother and Harley's parents. So very many knotches had been carved into each of them over the years, so much of both of them shaved away by the callous and unforgiving whetstone of life. But, in the most peculiar way, it had built them up.

"It was that bad, you just don't think so because you didn't have to wear your 'masterpiece'", she quipped playfully, cerulean eyes rolling before falling again to the pool of memories that lay betwixt them, perfectly content to wade within the soothing waters of nostalgia for the remainder of the evening with the only person she could have ever wanted to. The only person remaining with whom she shared any portion of her mortal self... the only individual who might convince her that maybe, just maybe, she was not some pathetic fool for clinging so tightly to her own humanity. This consideration alone braodens the simper upon Isolt's lips. That was, of course, until a gentle rapping upon her door suggested an unforeseen visitor.

Unforeseen, but certainly not unwelcome.

A smile, as warm and as effortlessly beautiful as the dawn of a spring morning, blossoms readily upon the cherry cushions of her lips even before her fingertips coil about the brass knob of the door. And when they do, when her door swings open to reveal him, she can do naught to interrupt the yearning to wrap her arms about him, to lay her head against the broad expanse of his chest and to have him hold her as if he might never relinquish her back to the world. And so she allows herself these sparse few moments of peace and safety in the arms of the man to whom she had relinquished nearly every part of herself. The man who, in the throes of death's impenetrable darkness, had shown her what it was to live.

It is a somber moment when she must depart from the security of his embrace only to have gifts showered upon her. A soft chuckle escapes her lips as Isolt inclines her head to douse her senses with the aroma of the bouquet she holds. The youthful vampire was still quite unaccustomed to the manners and frequency with which he seemed wont to spoil her, the inherently demure nature of the young woman dictating that a nearly-crippling level of modesty was appropriate in situations such as this. Nevertheless, Isolt leans in to bring her lips to his in an embrace that portrays her gratitude in far more definitive a manner than any words she might have offered. She allows herself a long moment for this too, content to linger in her avarice for him before finally drawing away to beseech from him a level of reticence she knows is apart from his custom. How long she might remain capable of maintaining such a ruse was questionable, but Isolt had no intention of revealing the gruesome truth of her immortal self to Harley... not tonight, anyway.

It is with an air that could be nothing other than abject trepidation that she leads her fiance into the kitchen, effectively unveiling her past to her present. And it is as if two currents converge upon one another, setting the redheaded woman asway in the wash of her own anticipation. It is a cycle only quieted by the sound of her companion adderssing her directly, a reassuring smile hinting coyly at the brims of her cherry lips. "Only the best parts," she cooed. It was the truth, of course, Isolt having always been far too tender when her conversations with Damon found them upon the subject of Harley, the presumed eternal loss of her dearest friend destined to haunt her forevermore.

Until now.

The fire-crowned vampire tries for an easy grin as she lowers herself once more into her chair, her fingers searching for employ by gently gathering up the photographs scattered chaotically about the table. "We were in the middle of taking a trip down memory lane," she explained to her lover, "I haven't seen some of these in ages... and for good reason." She extracts another glossy rectangle from the collection upon the table's surface, this one yet another capture of the inseparable pair of young girls, but depicting instead a young, gangly Isolt minus one of her front teeth. "Remember this? You and Aaron had the 'brilliant' idea to play softball in the back yard and I, somehow, was the one who ended up getting a tooth knocked out!" Despite what had been an admittedly embarrassing moment, with even more humiliating aftermath, a chuckle works its way from her lips as she looks to her companions for something... anything to suggest that this meeting might go well.