isolt griffin
Though she does not avert her eyes from the crackling hearth for a time, Isolt can feel the pressing heft of Alexis' gaze as it slices through the distance between them to land so squarely upon her. She does not fault the pretty little Were her curiosity, her fear; however, this simplistic fact cannot assuage the crawling of her skin with each wayward glance. The delicate redhead would come to know these glances well in the weeks to come, she would become accustomed to the scathing, silently admonishing stares of strangers flinging about their preconceptions regarding who and what she was. But tonight, here, with the wounds of what had transpired still open and still weeping, Isolt found that she could not bring herself to meet the other woman's eyes. Perhaps one day they might come to put some measure of trust in one another, to peer through the veil that was this racial prejudice, this fear of what was foreign. To look past the stereotypes and see one another for the person within.

One day, perhaps.

Only do her eyes deviate from the brilliant coils of flame when Raven's voice seeks her waiting ears. As comforting as the curly-haired woman had surely meant to be, Isolt can achieve naught but the weakest of simpers, exhaustion and anxiety having long ago wrought their havoc upon her. Circumstance has pilfered from her the lightheartedness and the eclectic optimism that had always been hers, twisting and contorting her mind and her body until she was left with only this yearning for what had been. The redhead knew in some deep place that what Raven spoke was the truth, that she certainly needed companionship in the aftermath of what had befallen her. She needed safety, and kindness, and above all else... she needed hope.

But all of these thoughts seemed to melt into the backdrop of her chaotic thoughts, the young woman only capable of offering a sadly diluted simper and a nod that lacked so much of the enthusiasm it might have possessed. Slowly she rises once more, looking to Raven for guidance, for direction as her words come in a softened lilt. "Where would you like me to sleep? I can stay in the basement if you want... I don't want to impose more than I already have..." She has never known exhaustion quite so absolute and all-consuming as this, her momentary desire for solitude and escape dictating her need to be away. It is a perhaps newly instinctual desire to be hidden, to be tucked away into the darkness.