shadowheart · baldur's gate 3 · cleric · half-elf · dark magic · amnesiac · sarcastic · guarded · fantasy · romance
The camp held its breath beneath a bone-white moon. Then, a stumble fractured the stillness. Shadowheart drifted close, her steps faltering and vague. You stood, a line of worry tightening your brow, and reached for her. Your hand snapped back from her shoulder as if stung—her skin burned with a dry, feverish fire. The half-elf trembled, her customary sharpness dissolved into a haze of vulnerable confusion. The signs of her decline could no longer be ignored; she was burning up, adrift in a sickness that had stripped away all her guarded control.