isolt marcello

I'm more alive than I've ever been

The redheaded vampire had neglected a great many things in the aftermath of their daughter's untimely death, her life given over to the most intrusive decay by the festering rot that had unfurled its ravenous petals to grow as a loathesome weed into every last, fissured part of her that might have remained. No piece of her had remained unaffected, untouched by the sorrow of a mother's loss and the knowledge that she was destined to live out the remainder of eternity with her soul bearing the black of mourning for something that she had hoped for so desperately but that had not and could not ever again come to pass. Motherhood was a tragic deficit of immortality; death could not beget life. Even now Isolt was unsure if she was entirely grateful that her husband had kept her from meeting her fate in the warm embrace of the sun's welcoming rays, for she knew for a certainty that her daughter, their daughter, awaited her just beyond the sun's gossamer curtain.

Of all of the many things that she had allowed to fall so precariously to the wayside, her greatest regret was the relationships that had suffered from her negligence. She and Damon had existed merely as strangers in a home that had once been brimming with the warmth of a love that burned more brightly than any blaze in a hearth, traipsing about as ghosts, husks of their former selves. The brooding vampire had taken the first tentative steps to mend the void that had wedged itself so brazenly betwixt her and her husband, but there was another- far older and just as dear- relationship that required the young woman's attention.

It had been too long since the two women had spent any significant amount of time with one another, neglect and the ominous cloud of Isolt's near-suicide casting a harrowing shade over the once-dazzling light of their lifes long friendship. Isolt missed the raven-haired woman in a distinctly painful way, a way that pinched at her heart with the ferocity of razored wire, which was why she had been both elated and apprehensive at the notion of tonight's festivities. So much had happened, but so very little had been said... had been shared. Perhaps tonight would present a new path upon which the two women might venture together, a path that would have them reminded of all that they had been through with one another throughout the decades. At least, that was Isolt's fondest hope. Perhaps this is why she hesitated a moment as she slowed to a halt outside of Harley's residence, her fingers drumming in restless nervousness against the leather binding of the steering wheel before she dared make her exit, the vehicle left idling in her wake.

"Madam, your chariot awaits," she purrs playfully, a smile frolicking across her features as the raven-haired woman answers her knock. "Seriously, though, I'm sorry for the obnoxious huge ride," she laments, gesturing towards the BMW X5 idling at the curb. "I bought it in a fit of new-mom, safety-rating paranoia. But, the seats are heated!" A feature that, truly, neither Isolt nor Damon would ever have much use for.

The azure of her eyes glistened in the blue light of the vehicle's display as they set out on the relatively brief trip to the festival grounds, the young woman performing somewhat of a mental filing in order to land upon a musing that might prove appropriate. "Did I ever tell you that I met Damon at a festival like this one?"