isolt griffin
It is painful in a manner that cannot possibly be verbalized to watch the measure of his guilt reflected in stark clarity within the emerald depths of his eyes. His words were but the confirmation of a suspicion aroused by the pain etched into every line of his handsome face, which scripted in a grotesque marquee across the expanse of his gaze. More painful still was the fraught realization that she seemed capable of offering him nothing that might go some way in quailing this emotional agony, for she herself was yet still tending the wounds wrought upon her by their shared past. She had made an attempt, feeble though it might have been for all the relief it offered, in ensuring him that the blame did not lie in his hands... to no conceivable avail. Isolt was tempted by the unseen hand of an inherent nurturing instinct to reach out to him as he had once reached out to her. But she knew in some offhandedly certain way that to do so would prove a folly.

Isolt finds that as the seconds pass between them, she minds the weight of his eyes upon her less and less, instead utilizing these few silent moments to regard him in the same politely intent manner that he does to her. In truth, it had been some time, if ever, that the two had been afforded these few precious moments to simply gaze upon one another in silent consideration. Silence that is severed by the emerald-eyed man before her with a comment that takes her wholly by surprise. The crimson-locked vampire finds herself at a loss for reply, the only response to his confession a rather telling blush that creeps to the apples of her cheeks and an innocently demure simper. To his merit, however, her companion spares her the awkwardness of formulating a reply and, perhaps, a confession of her own. "I'm afraid you've had a very poor sampling," she lilts, offering him a look that is nothing if not wholly apologetic. "But, if there was anything you did want to know, you'd only have to ask."

The suggestion that follows reminds the young woman of her intent for the evening; she had, indeed, planned on departing from the confines of the apartment... though her return had not been guaranteed. It's a notion she brushes aside, for now, in favor of mending what was truly a terribly dilapidated bridge. "I suppose you're right," she coos, a slight grin upon her lips as she rises. "We could both use the fresh air, I think." Politely ushering her guest to the door, Isolt plunges herself into the cool breeze of the darkening eve, a welcome reprieve from the stifling stagnation the apartment so often supplied. At a loss for notions of his intent, the demure vampire simply follows the domineering gentleman at her side. "Speaking of not knowing much about someone," she begins tentatively, hardly meaning to pry into what she perceived was a quite obviously secretive persona. "What should I know about you, Tet?"