isolt griffin
It was only once Isolt had traversed the smudged line between the souls of the living and those of the dead that she realized how very seldom she had ever truly glanced upon the moon, had really seen the celestial sentry's beautiful eccentricities for what they were. Now, in this afterlife that she had never once imagined for herself, Isolt could not find it within her to truly appreciate this splendor. The moon's face is distant, cold, and only does she appear to yearn for the sun's warm kiss. It was an admittedly beautiful evening, accented perfectly with the cool caress of the fall's splendid breath despite the fledgling vampire's inability to feel such subtle differences in temperate. Perhaps it is this clandestine need for a deviation to the established norm that has her journey to this portion of beach previously undiscovered... or perhaps it was the seemingly incessant bickering of her impromptu house guests that has driven her from the confines of her apartment. In truth she cannot deny a certain offhanded and extremely tentative and fragile fondness for them if not only for their presence that has chased away the physical barrenness of her surroundings, though she would hardly dare to admit such a thing aloud. And yet, their shared love, the absoluteness of their bond with one another has only seen Isolt yearn for Harley's presence all the more... their connection having served only to cast further light upon the fact that she is, and always will be, alone.

And so the auburn-locked girl finds herself in need of liberation from the living shrine to a forsaken human life that is her old quarters. It is not the first time that weary feet have lead her here, this particular locale an oasis of sorts within a city that will slow for no one, be they living or dead. However, the Isolt that now delves her bare feet into the fine powdery sand differs in a momentous way from the Isolt that had ventured here in the aftermath of their rather tumultuous emancipation from the confines of Syn. She has flourished thanks in no small part to Damon's vigilant patience, his understanding for her plight and his willingness to lead her down death's winding and perilous pathway. And it is a journey reflected in the ethereal waterfall of flame that is every crimson curl, the unearthly and dazzling blue of her eyes and the glow that exists even in the deathly pallor of her flesh. No longer does she linger upon the precipice of starvation, hollow and weakened in her malnourishment; no longer is she a sapling forced to wither in the shade of Risque's domineering shadow. Though it cannot be denied that a great many things remain broken within her, physically Isolt has begun to blossom as any healthy vampire should... emanating a graceful strength that only immortality could provide.

The young woman draws to a sudden halt, the pastel seafoam-hued maxi dress she wears billowing about her slender frame as she remains statuesque, oceanic eyes focused upon the hunched finger seated within the sand. Lifeless muscle coils, drawing taut over the bone at the sight of this particular individual... one that still ignites the cold flame of anxiety deep within Isolt's gut. This man, this Tetra, had aided her escape to freedom, but still she cannot erase the memory of his uncaring eyes upon her as she writhed in a growing pool of her own blood. He is, she is quite certain, an extension of Risque even if he may no longer slither about within her darkened halls.

Isolt moves to retreat, to forfeit her sanctuary to this man whose very presence breeds unease in every part of her soul... but her movements are stayed by the manner in which he lingers. Gone is the haughty confidence with which he had moved while under Risque's supervision, replaced with a brooding and almost... troubled aura that oozes from her unabashedly. For a moment, longer than Isolt would have preferred, she wages an internal war, battling instinct with emotion... pitting nature against conditioning. In life the young woman had always been kindly, given to place her needs behind and below those of her peers, and so she finds herself suppressing the desire to be rid of his company in favor of attempting to ease whatever troubles have buried themselves within his heart. Whether she is of the opinion that the emerald-eyed man deserves his strife is a separate matter entirely, eclipsed by her ever-present need to soothe what ails him in any way that she might be able. For now, at least.

Her approach is slow, cautious even, for though she bares strength far beyond any boasted by a mortal, Isolt remains almost wholly unaware of this fact. Clearing her throat, the flame-haired woman speaks kindly into the permeating silence. "You come here to think too, huh? It's as good a place as any, I suppose." Gracefully she lowers herself to mirror his seated position, placing her slender frame what she deems a safe and socially acceptable distance from the brooding man, the supple fabric of her dress fanned out about her as she digs her polished toes into the cool and softened sand. The betrayal of her internal anxiety comes in the knotting of her hands as they coil together within her lap, coupled with the nervous smile she offers to him as her eyes meet his. "Penny for your thoughts?"