isolt griffin

I'm more alive than I've ever been

The ceremony had been a thing of perfectly-orchestrated beauty, as intricate and breathtaking as the country that hosted it. A feast for the eyes if ever she had known one. She wondered if, perhaps, the decor had been chosen by Sebastian's husband. Isolt knew precious little about the man that Sebastian had taken as his chosen partner, a great many of life's myriad duties having pulled the vampire queen astray and rendering her nearly unable to indulge in the personal triumphs of her dearest companions. A travesty she was determined to make right in the dawn of the presumed "second chance" that she had been given.

Isolt held tight to the hand of her lover, though whether the intensity of her grasp was bred of some deep-seated anxiety or a show of support for her fiance remained to be seen, the supple bulb of her thumb tracing smooth crescents over the back of Damon's hand. Even here, tucked away in this veritable Italian paradise, the redheaded woman could feel the tension that bristled from the frame of her fiance as some prickling electric current to snap at her decliate skin. She could taste the bitterness of his agitation, his worry. A worry that was her doing, she supposed, for it had been merely a fortnight from the harrowing evening of her rescue and yet she had insisted, in no uncertain terms, that she would not be absent from Sebastian's nuptials. And, despite the relative weakness that still settled as sand within the hollows of her limbs, Isolt had remained true to her insistence, knowing without the barest shadow of a doubt that Damon would not allow her to attend alone.

It is this thought and a thousand others that coax the auburn-haired woman to gaze up in such a loving fashion at the man by her side as they are ushered to the reception, a soft and angelic simper tugging gently at her lips before she rises to place a chaste kiss upon the hard line of his jaw. She curls a single delicate hand into the angle of his arm to clasp gently to the sleeve of his tuxedo. Even in his austerity he was, Isolt was certain, one of the most handsome men that life had ever seen fit to show her. Less confident was she of her own aesthetic though, for it had taken more than a single layer of make-up to rectify the cosmetic nightmare presented by the still-healing scars upon her otherwise quite pleasant face. It is a sensitivity that has the vampire queen casting a wayward hand down the billowing folds of the sapphire dress she wears, seeking to right whatever phantom wrong she might be able to.

Isolt's eyes flitter about the bustling space as she awaits her turn to congratulate the newlyweds, pausing for a time upon the band as a pleased smile creases her supple features. She could not have been more proud of Chizue, partaking in such a project mere weeks after the hellish ordeal that she, too, had endured. Perhaps time would come to heal all that ailed them. Thankfully, Isolt is not given the chance to dwell upon the implications of all that ailed her as she ushered forward towards the pair of smartly-dressed men around whom the entire room seemed to orbit. "Sebastian," she cooed softly, offering her covenmate a gentle embrace, her lips brushing softly against the man's cheek as she withdrew from him. "The ceremony was just beautiful. Really, really breathtaking." She turns then to the man at Sebastian's side, a delighted simper spreading ever wider across the porcelain of her face as she extends a hand to him. "I'm Isolt and this is my fiance, Damon. It's so great to finally meet you."