isolt griffin

A smile blooms readily upon the ruby crescents of her lips despite the glacial wash of uncertainty that slops about within the stillness of her gut. Despite what could have been believed, this coupling of hesitance and uncertainty is hardly a nod to the purported species of the woman who stands opposite her and far more a consequence of the ghastly cocktail of circumstance and memory. Silver, in all of its various presentations, had been an arbalast employed for the deprecation of her already-withered body on many an occasion in the aftermath of her turning. And so even this smallest thing, this minutest hint of silver as it wafts from the pores of the woman before her, pulls taut the bunched coils of sinew that clothe her unbreakable skeleton. More so does it seem to have the flesh slithering sickenly across her muscles.

And yet even through the insurmountable anxiety that plunges its scythe-like claws into her belly, a smile blooms nonetheless as the redheaded night-crawler moves to lift the ungainly parcel of furniture once more. The maneuver into the bubbly stranger's abode was a surprisingly effortless one, Isolt herself naught shy of absolutely taken with the interior of the apartment. Even with the proverbial bones of pre-habitation evident throughout the space, the copper-crowned vampire cannot help the envy that blooms so wantonly within her. This, she believes, is precisely how her apartment might have looked were not for the harsh differences in style preference between her own wants and those of her roommate and childhood friend, Harley. It had always presented a rather momentous struggle to appease the darkly domineering raven-haired woman, and to this battle had fallen nearly all of Isolt's own preferences for how she might have made their apartment a home. This axiom alone seemed the catalyst for the awe that twinkled unabashedly in the azure depths of her eyes as they perused and the compliment that comes unobstructed to mind and mouth. "Your apartment is beautiful."

"Oh," she gasps softly, pulled unwillingly from her appreciation of this young damsel's apartment," no, thank you. And my name's Isolt." Slender fingers glide nervously through her glistening mane of auburn coils as the curiosity that is all-too-characteristic of this particular young vampire prodes insistently at the base of her brain. It is, perhaps, her very greatest vice, and one she can do naught but indulge in moments such as these. "So, Elenore, where are you from? Your accent is different... and it's lovely, I've never heard anything quite like it."