Isla
Isla knows the name of these strange little isles in Torchline, but she can't help but always think of them affectionately as melting islands. She figures this will be the best place to find a seashell which has had no imperfection, given that so many of the little sandtraps come and go so quickly. There's no tide to smash them about, there are no feet to crush them underfoot.
She's a bit of a strange sight, granted, as she goes paddling in the Longheat sun. Mainly because there's a dark parasol over her head to keep her safely in the shade, and also because she's wearing long sleeves in arguably one of the hottest places, at the hottest times of year. But this is how things need to be if she's to find a seashell, it seems. Hopefully it's a quick search, Isla humming quietly to herself as she bends to inspect one of the shells.
She's a bit of a strange sight, granted, as she goes paddling in the Longheat sun. Mainly because there's a dark parasol over her head to keep her safely in the shade, and also because she's wearing long sleeves in arguably one of the hottest places, at the hottest times of year. But this is how things need to be if she's to find a seashell, it seems. Hopefully it's a quick search, Isla humming quietly to herself as she bends to inspect one of the shells.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard
When you hit me, hit me hard
