isolt marcello

I'm more alive than I've ever been

The body poised before her in the mirror's glossy echo was not hers. Not really. Not anymore. Although immortality had pulled back the hands of her body's clock, erasing all traces of motherhood that had once existed there, it had not eradicated the memories of motherhood that flitted about as shooting stars across the twilight of the redheaded woman's mind. She would keep them there, as fireflies twinkling within a mason jar, for the eternity that spread out before her.

Tonight, however, was not for lamentations of motherhood lost. Tonight was for extending a proverbial olive branch to her beloved in what would hopefully prove to be the first steps in a reconciliation between them. Regret had soured Isolt's insides nearly from the moment that she had raised a hand towards her husband, no matter the ire that had blinded her in those moments. No matter how terribly he had transgressed, how contemptuous his betrayal (as she had seen it at the time), the flames of the love that she held for him rose higher than any other. Tonight was for rekindling love.

Tonight was for him.

And so Isolt adjusted the hem of the little black dress that clung to her slender figure for what felt like the thousandth time, though no amount of tugging could have ever lengthened the garment to the point where she would have been entirely comfortable wearing it. It was the type of piece that women possessing far more confidence than she were prone to donning on their nights out- the buttery onyx fabric embraced every titillating curve of her body like an alternate skin, the sloping neckline and non-existent back offering a generous view of her toned abdomen and positively gravity-defying cleavage. It was something that Harley would surely have praised her for having the moxie to actually wear. And, it was her fondest hope, it was something that would entice her husband to accompany her for the evening. Somewhere that they might cleanse themselves of their shared vexations, somewhere that they might rise above their sorrows- even if only for one night.

Isolt climbs the stairs that lead to Red on the Water's office with some trepidation, doubting herself and what appeal her husband might find in an evening with her. They had hardly spoken to one another since their argument, a silence that seemed only to fester with each passing moment, filling their home with rot. What if he still harbored bitterness towards his wife for her outburst? For the attempt that she had made on her own life? What if he had no interest in succumbing to her womanly wiles, leaving her to look ever the pitiful fool?

Casting aside her doubts as best as she can, the fire-crowned woman slowly presses the door to swing open so that the man she knows lingers there might look upon her. Isolt leans against the frame of the now-open door, the pose accentuating her every feminine curve, peering towards her husband through long, curving eyelashes. Delicately and deliberately does she knock on the door's frame to draw her husband's attention, if her entrance had not done so all of its own merit, her voice an alluring coo into the space betwixt them. "Excuse me, I'm looking for my husband," she purrs, allowing a moment of pregnant silence to pass before she glides ever so slowly towards the desk. The desk where they had first made love to one another, a tangle of flesh and passion. Where he had told her that he loved her. She had shown him forgiveness atop this desk... perhaps this night he might extend her the same.

A single, perfectly lacquered finger traces a smooth line against the cherry finish of the desk's polished top as Isolt glides around the wooden slab until she stands behind the seated man. With far more confidence than she admittedly feels the vampire women extends an arm to slowly bring the laptop that had, until now, garnered his focus to a close with a soft click, cherried lips brushing against his ear to issue a beguiling whisper. "Come with me."