The moment Daphne floats into their section, the mood changes the way sunlight suddenly breaks through storm clouds, dazzling and insufferable at the same time. She's a vision of pastel silk and glossy hair, bouncing with that trademark Bellamy sparkle as though the entire courtyard has been assembled just for her entrance.
Daphne laughs, tosses her hair, and pretends not to notice the heads turning in her wake. She knows they're turning. That's half the fun.
"Darien! Issy!" she chirps in that annoying, delicate, and impossible to ignore tone.
Daphne may be extra at times but she's still his sister and Darien loves her to the ends. Isolde doesn't even lift her head. She mutters something dark under her breath about how Daphne's voice should be outlawed in crowded spaces.
Darien gives a noncommittal grunt, bracing himself. Daphne's brand of sunshine tends to get under his skin the way glitter does, once it's there, you'll never get it out.
