isolt marcello

I'm more alive than I've ever been

The reality of this afterlife would not have proven quite so searing had it been possible for Isolt to severe the snagging vines that still bound her so tightly to her mortal self . If only she could have peeled herself away from her first life with as much apparent ease as her lover and her maker had done- like the sloughing of a dried, molted skin. Perhaps in the decades to come the callouses of immortality would harden the myriad tender places that plagued her so incessantly. The tenderness that found her here, so vulnerable and yet so undeniably brimming with a rage unlike any she had ever harbored. It was a hope... and a fear, she supposed, that this endless night might find her made the antonym of her mortal self. Perhaps one day both of the women would find out how very far Isolt was capable of falling.

The fire-crowned vampire swallows past the fibrous knot twisted into her throat, the heft of the entire room seeming to lean only further unto her shoulders in the aftermath of what she realizes will be seen as the weakest of affirmations. The eyes of her maker narrow as they bore into her with even greater malice, even greater disdain and repulsion than they had before... a feat Isolt would hardly have considered possible were she not witness to it. She would not know success in this venture unless she were to dip her proverbial ladle into the inky abyss of rage that had urged her here, to break ground in the murky pit of her own antagonistic ire. Her maker sought exposure of the oppressive darkness that squatted within the endless hollow of her chest.

This, it seemed, the young vampire was willing to concede.

"Neither. My husband has destroyed their home and I have no use for their apologies, if there should be any." Hardly can she elaborate, though, before this woman who had so long existed as a veritable boogeyman skulking just beyond view interjected. Her displeasure was a palpable thing that stung as a rising tide of bile at the back of Isolt's throat, forcing the hairs at the nape of her neck to attention. But the sudden approach of the raven-haired monolith heralded something all too familiar to her progeny, the sensation of a frigid chill as it traced its way down the length of her spine, rattling each vertebrae in turn. Just barely did she succeed in suppressing the obvious cringe invited by even this slightest and seemingly innocent of touches. Nothing comforting, nothing good, had ever once come from the two vampires being in such proximity to one another. Upon their very first meeting Risque had relieved Isolt of the mortal coil and, upon the occasion of their last interaction, Isolt had made the admittedly rash decision to strike her maker. The horrific glint in the otherwise lifeless pale eyes of the woman who now towered over her promised naught but the very same should come of this rendevous.

For a moment Isolt simply gazes into the beautiful hollows of her maker's eyes, wholly of the understanding that to linger in silence for any period of time may very well risk the woman making good on her threat. But it is this barest moment that the crimson-haired vampire needs to truly accept the answer that had sown its vile seeds into her heart. The thing she says next had existed only as a dark consideration- unspoken heretofore.

"I will break them. I will pulverize their bodies, splinter their bones- I'll take my time to torture them just as they did with me. I will force them to inflict pain upon one another, to break the bond they hold, like mother and son. I want them to feel every bit of agony that I have- I want them to watch each other suffer for what they've done. And, when I have taken everything else from them, I'll rip the hearts from their chests just as they have done to me."