Solitude, at least in her formative years, was Isolde’s preferred state. Left to her own devices, Iz would forgo meals, sleep, and commitments, electing instead to sit in isolation before a window, where she would gaze not out at the world but inward at landscapes all her own. Though such bouts of introspection often began with some intelligent purpose, they soon lapsed into a sort of fatalistic exposition as one bleak observation led to a darker question that begat a whole abysmal inquiry.
She continues to be a mood
