Post by Maestro on Aug 17, 2008 2:36:20 GMT -5
Ooc; Since I wasn't here and everything moved ahead, I had to think of some reason why Iseabail was out of the picture. Here it is. I suppose that people can still respond, but don't expect much reaction from her.
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Ever since Iker had had control of her, Iseabail hadn’t been quite herself. She hadn’t gone to rehearsals, she hadn’t been eating, and she hadn’t really left her room. The shame she felt for what she had been forced to do had been too great, had taken over her. Not to mention the fact that her mind was still in a bit of shambles after everything. He had had control for at least twenty-four hours and a single day could do a lot to change someone.
She wasn’t insane, per say, but she definitely wasn’t herself; hadn’t been herself for at least a month. Though a strong woman, Iker was the demon of visitation; not even Armand could handle him. Plus, Iseabail had the sneaking suspicion that Iker had done something to her before she regained control. And not only that, Iseabail was a vampire—her ability to use telepathy had probably amplified Iker’s effects tenfold.
A shell of what she had once been, Iseabail sat at her piano bench, just staring as she had done so often over the past month. She didn’t expect today to be any different than any other day: she would sit at the bench and just let her mind wander. Iseabail had always been fairly articulate; now, she would ramble on about nothing for ages. It was getting better, though, a little every day. She seemed to be recovering her own mind. Who knew it would take so long to get everything back in order?
And yet, thoughts of Armand could still bring a smile to her face. There were times, though, that she wondered if she had dreamed his words to her, if he had ever really told her he loved her. She couldn’t be sure of things, anymore. Sometimes, she could swear that she heard Iker whispering to her in the dark.
Suddenly, a knock on the door. Iseabail looked up, slightly confused. There was a world outside of her room? Things happened on the far side of that panel of wood? Who could it be, disturbing her attempt to heal herself?
“Aunt Isea, open the door,” a frantic, Spanish-accented voice called. “This is at least the fifth time that I have been here and I am not going away, this time,” Bela declared, fidgeting.
Iseabail stood and made her way unsteadily to the door, somehow managing to unlock it without falling over.
Bela strode into the room, taking in the disorder in a single glance. But then she looked at Iseabail and it was all she could do not to scream. ”Madre de Dios, Aunt Isea,” Bela breathed, crossing herself out of habit. “What has happened?!” she asked, the horror plain on her face. And then she scoffed at herself. “No, I know what happened. It was that bastard prince that you are in love with; it’s been going around. He is not worth it, Aunt Isea; forget about him.”
Arabela was speaking to her. It had been a long time since someone had spoken to her. It took Iseabail a moment to focus, but once she could, her world came crashing down around her. “He’s chosen Zizzy, hasn’t he?” she forced out, holding in her emotions. The beautiful voice was a mere monotone, at the moment; she couldn’t drudge up the energy for expression.
She had known this would happen. Ever since that day, the day that he had told her he loved her, Iseabail had known he was going to choose Zizzy. She had even sort of braced herself for it, but nothing could have prepared her for the way her heart felt. It was as though it was being ripped from her chest and she died that day. Not literally, but a large part of her, the part that Armand had given hope to the day he had sent her the snowdrop submerged itself in grief.
“I’m going to kill that híbrido,” Bela growled, anger boiling close to the surface. “I don’t care if he is a prince; he shouldn’t be allowed to treat people like this. It is his fault that you are like this.” She looked at her almost-aunt again, shuddering at what she saw. The usually beautiful woman, relatively thin to begin with, was now emaciated. Her lovely black hair fell in strings around her face, the normally thick, glossy locks appearing thin and brittle. And though she was usually pale, it was a healthy type of pale. The color of her skin now was a sickly white, as though she had never seen sunlight.
Swallowing, Bela murmured, “Aunt Isea, you need to eat something. And then I’m going to take you to the Real World, and a blood bank; you need all sorts of things.” But right now, she needed something like bread. “You’ll get through this, Aunt Isea,” Bela promised, hoping she was right. Worried, she hurried off, headed to the closest bakery.
Iseabail didn’t look up as Bela left. She just stared into space, wondering what was going to happen now. Apparently, it was enough to jerk her out of her Iker-induced stupor, but at what cost? Her heart was broken.
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Ever since Iker had had control of her, Iseabail hadn’t been quite herself. She hadn’t gone to rehearsals, she hadn’t been eating, and she hadn’t really left her room. The shame she felt for what she had been forced to do had been too great, had taken over her. Not to mention the fact that her mind was still in a bit of shambles after everything. He had had control for at least twenty-four hours and a single day could do a lot to change someone.
She wasn’t insane, per say, but she definitely wasn’t herself; hadn’t been herself for at least a month. Though a strong woman, Iker was the demon of visitation; not even Armand could handle him. Plus, Iseabail had the sneaking suspicion that Iker had done something to her before she regained control. And not only that, Iseabail was a vampire—her ability to use telepathy had probably amplified Iker’s effects tenfold.
A shell of what she had once been, Iseabail sat at her piano bench, just staring as she had done so often over the past month. She didn’t expect today to be any different than any other day: she would sit at the bench and just let her mind wander. Iseabail had always been fairly articulate; now, she would ramble on about nothing for ages. It was getting better, though, a little every day. She seemed to be recovering her own mind. Who knew it would take so long to get everything back in order?
And yet, thoughts of Armand could still bring a smile to her face. There were times, though, that she wondered if she had dreamed his words to her, if he had ever really told her he loved her. She couldn’t be sure of things, anymore. Sometimes, she could swear that she heard Iker whispering to her in the dark.
Suddenly, a knock on the door. Iseabail looked up, slightly confused. There was a world outside of her room? Things happened on the far side of that panel of wood? Who could it be, disturbing her attempt to heal herself?
“Aunt Isea, open the door,” a frantic, Spanish-accented voice called. “This is at least the fifth time that I have been here and I am not going away, this time,” Bela declared, fidgeting.
Iseabail stood and made her way unsteadily to the door, somehow managing to unlock it without falling over.
Bela strode into the room, taking in the disorder in a single glance. But then she looked at Iseabail and it was all she could do not to scream. ”Madre de Dios, Aunt Isea,” Bela breathed, crossing herself out of habit. “What has happened?!” she asked, the horror plain on her face. And then she scoffed at herself. “No, I know what happened. It was that bastard prince that you are in love with; it’s been going around. He is not worth it, Aunt Isea; forget about him.”
Arabela was speaking to her. It had been a long time since someone had spoken to her. It took Iseabail a moment to focus, but once she could, her world came crashing down around her. “He’s chosen Zizzy, hasn’t he?” she forced out, holding in her emotions. The beautiful voice was a mere monotone, at the moment; she couldn’t drudge up the energy for expression.
She had known this would happen. Ever since that day, the day that he had told her he loved her, Iseabail had known he was going to choose Zizzy. She had even sort of braced herself for it, but nothing could have prepared her for the way her heart felt. It was as though it was being ripped from her chest and she died that day. Not literally, but a large part of her, the part that Armand had given hope to the day he had sent her the snowdrop submerged itself in grief.
“I’m going to kill that híbrido,” Bela growled, anger boiling close to the surface. “I don’t care if he is a prince; he shouldn’t be allowed to treat people like this. It is his fault that you are like this.” She looked at her almost-aunt again, shuddering at what she saw. The usually beautiful woman, relatively thin to begin with, was now emaciated. Her lovely black hair fell in strings around her face, the normally thick, glossy locks appearing thin and brittle. And though she was usually pale, it was a healthy type of pale. The color of her skin now was a sickly white, as though she had never seen sunlight.
Swallowing, Bela murmured, “Aunt Isea, you need to eat something. And then I’m going to take you to the Real World, and a blood bank; you need all sorts of things.” But right now, she needed something like bread. “You’ll get through this, Aunt Isea,” Bela promised, hoping she was right. Worried, she hurried off, headed to the closest bakery.
Iseabail didn’t look up as Bela left. She just stared into space, wondering what was going to happen now. Apparently, it was enough to jerk her out of her Iker-induced stupor, but at what cost? Her heart was broken.