Blue
(Fenris/Isabella)
Strange as it may seem, he's not generally aware of the glow when it's at its most intense; he doesn't really see much at all then, just sort of knows where life is, the delicate places where the pulsating, circuitous life can be snapped and broken. But when he is more in control, he hates being able to see the halo of blue around his vision, hates the reminder of having no control over what happened to him.
But she seems fascinated by them, tracing the lines the the pads of her fingers, with her suckling lips, her wicked tongue.
"Will you stop that?" He finally grouses, when he's tired of her games; it feels pleasurable, certainly, but it also feels wrong, that he should take pleasure in the body that was disfigured so against his will, and she's not helping matters.
"What, these?" Isabella traces her fingernails lightly on this inside of his forearm. "But they're beautiful."
He scoffs. "I'm sure Danarius would be pleased to hear that you liked the design."
For a moment she sits bolt upright, straddling him, her eyes blinking in surprise. But just for a moment; this is Isabella, mind. She lowers herself back over him, kisses his furrowed brow. "You silly man, of course it's not that. This isn't art; they're scars. But scars tell everyone something very important." She wraps her arms around him. "You're no victim; you're a survivor. And that's the only sort of man I'll spend my precious time with." She kisses him full, now, and they don't waste any more time on doubts.