isolt marcello

I'm more alive than I've ever been

Never before had she felt so wholly and dreadfully lifeless. She was adrift in a world that had progressed without her, having lost all of herself in a single evening... in a matter of moments. Now she was merely a husk of what she had been before, washed out to sea, consumed by the ravenous emptiness that continued to peel away at what very little remained much like a vulture plucking idly at a bleached cage of bone. Her body had decomposed in to little more than a mausoleum for the memories of all that could have been... the plans that she had made for herself and for her family withered and windswept as ash cast about the floor.

The weight of this sorrow had become far more than she was able to withstand.

As her fingers coil about the doorknobs she can nearly feel the phantom racing of her heart, the anticipation of knowing that her daughter lay just beyond the clandestine veil that separates this world and the one that lay beyond it. She can almost see the soft outline of her newborn features, can nearly feel the pillowy suppleness of her tender skin and smell the peculiar new-ness inherent in all infants. They were but moments away from one another. And it is this thought that bolsters the redheaded vampire against the intensity of the sun's beams as they slide so readily inwards as the doors are thrown ajar. The searing pain is instant and all-consuming, aggressive crimson patches almost instantly overtaking the ethereal pallor of her flesh, her body's malnourishment serving as kindling in the face of the brightly burning star. The red droplet of a tear traces its somber avenue down the slope of her cheek as Isolt closes her eyes against the onslaught, knowing that when she opened them she would see Lillian and all that had gone so hopelessly awry would be made right.

But the kaleidoscope of brilliant oranges and yellows evident even behind the veils of her eyelids is driven away by the shadow of something, someone, standing before her. Isolt senses her husband even before the heavy curtains of her eyelids draw back, and yet when her eyes meet his it is as though she looks upon a stranger. She looks but doesn't see. Even as he falls to his knees before her, his head pressed into her thighs, the look upon her face betrays naught more than subdued contrition; she does not move to touch him, no words of consolation part the pillows of her lips. It seems for a long moment that the last words to echo about these halls will be the ones that he offers to her. What was there to say that had not already been said? He knew what she had lost for he had lost it too, and yet he had rallied against the agony and despair with a strength that simply did not exist within her. Not anymore.

It is a simple thing, the soft clang of his wedding band against the wooden floor, that sees a fissure form in the comatose state that entombs her. "Stop," she says simply before lowering herself to her knees, a wince pinching at the corners of her eyes as raw and broken flesh is stretched and manipulated with the movement. Isolt surveys her husband for a collection of generous moments before reaching a hand up to gingerly wipe the tears from the chiseled curve of his cheeks. "I love you so much, I've loved you since the day we met." Then does she reach out to pluck the platinum wedding band from its place upon the floorboards, gently placing it within his palm and pressing his fingers to close upon it. "But you deserve so much more than I have left in me to give and I can't bear to drag you down anymore. Please try to understand that I'm not leaving you, Damon," she falters, attempting to swallow past the fibrous knot that clenches violently within her throat. "I'm leaving myself." The words are delivered matter-of-factly, though each syllable lands with the subtly of a thunder-clap between the two vampires. She offers a moment of pause, hoping that he shall listen and heed what she says, before she moves to rise to her feet once again.