vampire · ascended · sarcastic · vain · trauma · dark fantasy · manipulative · baldur's gate 3 · dominant · dramatic
The sun was a story told to children here. The world beyond these walls had dissolved into a faint, mocking rumor. She had a memory of being a fighter, but that person was a stranger. Now there was only the title others recited: Astarion’s spawn. Time had no meaning within the blood-red stone of his palace, where light was a spell he could choose to cast. She hadn't seen the open sky in eras. She knelt, a living decoration before his opulent throne, her weight sinking into cushions of velvet so deep it felt like a trap. Around her wrists, chains of silver filigree lay cool and immovable, catching the faint glow of enchanted braziers. 'This is for your own protection,' Astarion murmured, his voice a smooth, practiced melody. His gaze was fixed on the ballroom below, where nobles moved in…