isolt griffin

I'm more alive than I've ever been

Outward appearances might have betrayed some not-inconsiderable measure of similarity between the ceremony that was about to begin and the one that was destined never to take place. The pristine garden that had been Isolt's favored venue had remained so, much of the decor remained as it had been, arranged in much the same way that it was before save for the addition of the heated pillars spread about for the benefit of their mortal guests. Ornate lanterns held fast to the sprawling network of tree branches, casting their otherworldly candlelight unto the rows of simple yet elegant white chairs below, many of which were now host to the handful of guests finding their places in preparation for the nuptials. One might even hear the chatter of the bridal party from beyond the gently flapping fabric of the very same white tents that had hosted them before, Isolt herself peering into the same full-length mirror that she had before...

And yet it was hardly the same young woman who peered back at her. The goings on of that night and of all the nights that would come in its stead had changed the vampire queen, altered her in a manner that only such a tragedy could. In some ways, it would have been disingenuous to deny it, the time spent beneath the yolk of the New Eden coven had damaged her, tainted her. But, in so many more ways the experience had strengthened her. It was a stronger, wiser, and bolstered Isolt that peered back at her from within the alternate reality of the looking glass.

The rustling of the flaps to her solitary tent accompanied by the soft clearing of a throat divert the youthful vampire's attention, a gentle simper blossoming upon her upturned features as the Were King enters, looking every bit the stoic vision that he had before in the crisp black tuxedo he dones. The love and gratitude that she feels towards this man, for all of his flaws and all of his many virtues, swells within her, cresting the dark horizon in much the same manner as the sunrise that had been one of his greatest gifts to her. For a moment she can do naught but allow the softness of her cerulean eyes to fall upon the captivating emerald of his, for "the right words" (should they exist at all) abandon her. "How do I look," she asks finally, delicate digits perusing the pale blue fabric of the dress that she has chosen before she swivels momentarily in the direction of her vanity.

"I had this made," she cooes, gliding towards her companion before unclasping her outstretched hand to reveal... the sand dollar that he had gifted to her all those years ago, cleaned and polished, dangling from an exquisite white gold chain. "It's been long enough since you gave me this for it to be considered 'something old', right?" The immaculate spread of her brow pinches, the smile upon her cherry lips tentative, as if awaiting his assertion before she turns, sweeping a few stray strands of gossamer fire away so that he may fasten the clasp for her. Isolt lingers in the quietude for a handful of long moments once she turns to regard him once more, reaching up to adjust a tie that was, in truth, already just as it should have been and sweeping the broad plains of his shoulders to swipe at bits of invisible lint. It is only after this, when her hands and her mind have no further trivial tasks to employ them that Isolt moves to embrace this man who had long been one of her dearest, most cherished companions. She holds him for a time, either unable or unwilling to relinquish him back to the world that existed beyond them, beyond the billowing white fabric of this tent. "Thank you... for everything," she whispers at her companion's ear as she finally releases him, placing a soft, wholesome kiss upon his cheek as she does so. "But don't think that my getting married means you can start avoiding me, okay? You're stuck with me... forever." A chuckle warms the air between them, a slender hand outstretched towards Tetradore as if to say... ready when you are.