Isuelt had taken to her chambers at the Sanctuary more often than not in this tail portion of the year. The reasons were two-fold.
The WestEnd had been quiet in the last few weeks...well, relatively quiet, for the WestEnd, anyway. She had the unshakable feeling that the other shoe was about to drop. The anxiety she felt creep up on her bones as she readied herself for each patrol in the WestEnd waxed stronger and stronger. And what was worse, was that lately she felt like she was being watched. Not looked at, as the inhabitants of that section of RhyDin had taken to doing (was it due to their new-found suspicion of the Scathachians, or perhaps their desperate desire to hope again in the safety one of the crimson-sashed Sisters provided); but she felt followed. Isuelt had dismissed it as nerves, paranoia at the current situation. Still...she couldn't seem to fight off the sensation of eyes watching her movements through patrols.
Presently she was secluded in a room at the Inn. Trixie had just delivered news to her downstairs on the porch that she would be going away for a bit. It seemed a stirring of nostalgia prompted the mini-holiday from RhyDin. Isuelt couldn't blame her Sister, there was nowhere she would rather be...some place she called home. But, where was that exactly? She hadn't been back to her hometown in decades. There was nothing for her there. The Island? Yes, that was more of a home to her than anything; but to seek solace now? There was too much to be done.
Isuelt's scattered thought pattern skidded back to the murders at hand. There was still no word on who was responsible or why. Even Brian hadn't been able to turn up anything. And the many people the Scathachians had keeping their ears to the ground were coming up empty.
Frustrating was an understatement.
She sat in the room upstairs staring at a knot-hole in the south wall, repeating the same mantra to herself over and over.
"Who?......Why?.......What next?.......Who?......Why?......What next?"
Her fingernails had begun to dig their way into the palms of her hands, as her fists clenched tighter. She had been spinning the details of the murders, her framing, the gifts to Jewell and Brian, and the hailstorm of rumors, as well as the behavior of her fellow Sisters. For the most part, they were all of the same mind - to get this psychopath off the street and interrogate them Scathachian style. But Rae...she was behaving off...even for her. And who was that figure in the alleyway that had started Rae's downward spiral? Isuelt had so many questions and just not the time to follow all of their leads.
Another sigh and her zig-zagged thoughts turned back to the concept of "home." Maybe home wasn't exactly a place with her, as it was with most people. Maybe home was a person. After all, that gypsy nature of hers kept her from staying in one place too long. But she had actually felt at home with only a few people in her life; most of whom were long gone now.
Well, all except for one...
The WestEnd had been quiet in the last few weeks...well, relatively quiet, for the WestEnd, anyway. She had the unshakable feeling that the other shoe was about to drop. The anxiety she felt creep up on her bones as she readied herself for each patrol in the WestEnd waxed stronger and stronger. And what was worse, was that lately she felt like she was being watched. Not looked at, as the inhabitants of that section of RhyDin had taken to doing (was it due to their new-found suspicion of the Scathachians, or perhaps their desperate desire to hope again in the safety one of the crimson-sashed Sisters provided); but she felt followed. Isuelt had dismissed it as nerves, paranoia at the current situation. Still...she couldn't seem to fight off the sensation of eyes watching her movements through patrols.
Presently she was secluded in a room at the Inn. Trixie had just delivered news to her downstairs on the porch that she would be going away for a bit. It seemed a stirring of nostalgia prompted the mini-holiday from RhyDin. Isuelt couldn't blame her Sister, there was nowhere she would rather be...some place she called home. But, where was that exactly? She hadn't been back to her hometown in decades. There was nothing for her there. The Island? Yes, that was more of a home to her than anything; but to seek solace now? There was too much to be done.
Isuelt's scattered thought pattern skidded back to the murders at hand. There was still no word on who was responsible or why. Even Brian hadn't been able to turn up anything. And the many people the Scathachians had keeping their ears to the ground were coming up empty.
Frustrating was an understatement.
She sat in the room upstairs staring at a knot-hole in the south wall, repeating the same mantra to herself over and over.
"Who?......Why?.......What next?.......Who?......Why?......What next?"
Her fingernails had begun to dig their way into the palms of her hands, as her fists clenched tighter. She had been spinning the details of the murders, her framing, the gifts to Jewell and Brian, and the hailstorm of rumors, as well as the behavior of her fellow Sisters. For the most part, they were all of the same mind - to get this psychopath off the street and interrogate them Scathachian style. But Rae...she was behaving off...even for her. And who was that figure in the alleyway that had started Rae's downward spiral? Isuelt had so many questions and just not the time to follow all of their leads.
Another sigh and her zig-zagged thoughts turned back to the concept of "home." Maybe home wasn't exactly a place with her, as it was with most people. Maybe home was a person. After all, that gypsy nature of hers kept her from staying in one place too long. But she had actually felt at home with only a few people in her life; most of whom were long gone now.
Well, all except for one...