so much of our lives is just carving through the dark
Barefoot and in the same sundress she'd been wearing on her last outing with Ever, even if it looks much worse for wear these days, Isla has also been reaching for a ripe looking pineapple to claim when her name hits the air. Glancing sharply around, she relaxes at the sight of Remi, but only fractionally, straightening up and self-consciously smoothing out a streak of ash on her dress. "Hey, Remi," she mumbles, tucking a wild lock of hair behind her ear, threading it through the ribbon of topaz that makes up her horns.
"I don't really know how to answer that question," she says quietly. Or rather, she does - everything is terrible and it's all their fault - but that doesn't make for a good conversation. As his hand reaches for her, too, she shrinks back, shaking her head softly to indicate that she'd prefer if he didn't feel what she did right now. Some feelings aren't meant for sharing, and selfishly, she wants at least that for herself.
"I've been spending some time out here," she says, as if it isn't all too obvious. "Ever has gone back to Stormbreak."
"I don't really know how to answer that question," she says quietly. Or rather, she does - everything is terrible and it's all their fault - but that doesn't make for a good conversation. As his hand reaches for her, too, she shrinks back, shaking her head softly to indicate that she'd prefer if he didn't feel what she did right now. Some feelings aren't meant for sharing, and selfishly, she wants at least that for herself.
"I've been spending some time out here," she says, as if it isn't all too obvious. "Ever has gone back to Stormbreak."
