LOOOOL!

[i]The one that men want and women want to be.[/i] Isobel is one of those people that you admire from afar, love from up close but is, in essence, only human. Under the glamour of perfection lies a flawed individual. Born fourth out of five siblings, she has devoted most of her childhood to distinguish herself from her brothers and sisters. Even as a child, she has displayed her natural intelligence and talent, along with her tendency for competition and perfection.

Notoriously independent, she refuses to ask nor accept help from others. However, she offers it in abundance. Extremely faithful and dependable, Isobel is an ever-present figure of strength and wisdom.

Having an IQ of 196, she values intelligence and puts much importance in education. This makes her intolerant of stupidity and more so of people who are inherently smart yet refuses to immerse themselves in their studies. But Isobel firmly believes in hollistic growth and invests time not only for her studies but also in her many interests.


Sounds... pilit. Help me? :)

Just a taste

The stench lust and lies surrounded the ballroom with the rustle of dresses and fluster of fans. She smirked cruelly, her face hidden behind the fine netting of her lace fan. All of the guests, decadently fashioned into visions of affluence and grace, started to dance in this little charade. How easy it were to bring about their downfall, reducing them to nothing more than heaps of flesh with no real worth with a few, carefully chosen words uttered into the right ears. The room was abuzz with rumor and gossip as though life revolved solely around intrigue and betrayal. She rolled her eyes in disappointment. Nothing of particular interest was happening; no secret unraveled nor whispers that she has not heard before. She was surrounded by vapid conversation and dull remarks; unprepossessing characters that are better suited as slaves with menial chores than their place at court.

Joan scanned the room with a nonchalant gaze, a soft, kind smile playing on her lips concealing her pernicious thoughts. She stood at the sidelines, statuesque with her dress in cream and gold. Her neckline, square in shape as fashion dictates, revealed her birthmark and hinted at the shapely figure underneath her clothes. The pouf sleeves of her dress were of an intricate design, made of Farangalian lace that matched the fan in her hand; a gift from her Father from one of his recent travels. Unlike most, she donned a full tulle skirt with a Basque waist to emphasize her form. Her eyes, the color of the Caribbean Sea, flashed dangerously behind those luscious lashes like daggers catching the light. Her cheeks were red with rogue and her lips moist with the wine that touched her lips.

She stayed at the outskirts, observing keenly the events that unfurled before her eyes. Her sister, Georgiana, accompanied by those pesky ‘friends’ of hers was surrounded by a flock of men, word of their purity sending those worthless boys into frenzy in wish to get the first bite. Such propaganda was uncalled for in her eyes and Georgiana knew of her disapproval only too well. She has chastised her sister on several occasions regarding this matter but what has been done cannot be undone. This hypocrisy, however, was laughable in her eyes for even she whose virtue remains unquestionable, a devout beautiful and untouched, virgin in both lips and body cannot claim to be pure in heart in mind. Petty promises of chastity! How primitive they seemed to her. Were they not aware that this very oath was yet another avenue for shame and dishonor? Men boast of their conquests and news of tainted lips would not only ruin Georgiana but Joan as well, indirect though the effect may be.

She sighed softly and tore her gaze from that side of the room. It was then that her eyes beheld a gentleman, meaningfully staring at her. A deep blush crept from her neck to her cheeks as she lowered her gaze before meeting his stare fully with one of her own. He advanced towards her and Joan discreetly assessed the man. He was of medium-built, tall but definitely not lanky. He is good-looking, not as dashing as one would hope but he makes up for it with mesmerizing midnight brown eyes that seemed to reel her in. ’May I have the honor of this dance, my lady,’ he uttered in a baritone voice, offering his hand. “I would be delighted, kind sir,” Joan replied, resting her hand in his own as he led her to the dance floor.

She splayed her fan and peaked seductively over it while he looked at her with a feral glint in his eyes as they told a story of desire and demise. She danced around him, twirling gracefully as she should – the fabric of her frock whipping at her ankles as she turned. He bowed as did she, putting left foot behind the other and curtsying with practiced ease. Then went on their dizzying play at passion as she danced with him, her body responding to his; a slight tingle coursing through her spine when their fingers met. What was it about him that piqued her curiosity as she drowned in his captivating gaze? It was a whirlwind of unwarranted emotions, a longing for love and recognition the most striking of them all. This worried her, wanting nothing more than power and glory before such that point in time. To realize something missing in one's life, did it really bring about such hollowness? The music has ended, like all good things that must come to a close but the twirling did not and she looked to him, his face with a faint glow as everything that surrounded him became a mere blur in her eyes. Whoever that man was, he was hers - at least, until this fleeting fancy has left her completely. ’A curious man indeed. What shall I make of him, I wonder…’

And I profess my undying love... oh, foolish heart!

To be honest, I have no clue why I even like you. No. I would not say that I love you because there are times when you make me really really really hate you. Maybe hate is too strong a word but I have never felt so mad and frustrated in my life that I could only liken such a feeling to that intense an emotion. Yet you make me so happy and so content... so fulfilled that I highly doubt it could be anything less than love.

You confuse me. No mistake there. I did not mean it to be one of those cliche statements like 'You complete me' or any of that crap that only barmy idiots would actually say or believe. I am never quite certain what will happen when it comes to you. Sometimes you're actually half-decent and we finally talk without me becoming violent. But most of the time you're just crawling under my skin and getting on my nerves. That's when things are at its best and worst. I love the attention and you know it. You shower me with it though it's not quite the kind of attention I was hoping for. There is never a boring day around you. It's always a roller coaster of emotion that leaves me drained and tired. But once I have recovered, I feel exhilirated and genuinely happy.

You are NOT the man of my dreams. Saying that is perhaps the nicest way to put it. I love gentlemen and you are... to some extent. You can be quite obnoxious and tactless. You do things that I abhor. Whenever I think of someone else doing it, I cringe. Yet whenever you do it, I just find it adorable. Slightly annoying, true, but tolerable. You're not expressive while, as a Leo, I yearn for loves professed on rooftops and, if possible, with song and dance. There are tons more of things but eventhough you oppose each and every trait that I look for a man, the possibility interests me. How masochistic is that?

We fight - a LOT. Every time we meet is like a war. We bicker. You tease and I retort. I scream and cry yet at the end of it all I find that I couldn't care less once you try to make amends with your crooked grin and your arm around my shoulder. People have told me I'm as cold as dry ice yet I seem to be ablaze at your very presence. I am rational and quite detached in most situations. But once you're near me, all coherent thoughts seem to fly out the window and I'm pulled into you; as though you were my personal sun. It's ridiculous, I know. It's frustrating because no matter how many good men are in my life, no matter how many people I've actually considered dating, no matter how certain I am that if I put a little effort into those relationships, that they'd make me happy and give me the peace of mind that I so crave, I somehow throw those thoughts away because I know somewhere, there you will be and eventhough you may not like me that way, I am somehow foolish enough to think that one day, you will. And when that day comes, I know it'll probably the day I sign my soul to hell. Yet I cannot bring myself to be alarmed because hell is something I could live through as long as you're there.