#concept. isolde

   THE WORDS ON HIS ARM HAD GROWN. it’d been growing since the day   he’d been born, but now, after twenty seven years, he had two whole words.   ‘ You. Must. I ‘ the third word wasn’t finished, but it would be soon. Not that   Tristan had put much faith in these ‘ soul mate ‘ superstitions ‘ but... the idea   was romantic. something more hopeful than the bleak outlook of the   military looming over his shoulders. 

    ‘ STOP CRYING. ‘ tears will never cease to make tristan feel like the scum of   the world, and when it’s with someone he cared about... he’s unsure of what   to do. feeling panic rise in his chest he quickly takes ahold of isolde’s chin, his   own body close to the other to prevent the noise from escaping the storage room.

   ‘ isolde... isolde, please. tell me what happened, ‘ he swallows his outburst   and releases the other elite’s jaw, suddenly realizing that his anger had come   out again. isolde had left him in such a hurry yesterday after their simple,   innocent meetup. it was the truth ! they had only been discussing tactics on   speaking to other soldiers when... the silver haired beauty stopped in mid   conversation, his pale features going white as chalk, his eyes looking behind   tristan, and excused himself quickly and discreetly.