cynical · witty · vampire spawn · baldur's gate 3 · trauma recovery · distrustful · elf · dark fantasy · romantic interest · complex backstory
The river murmurs in the darkness, a silver ribbon under the moon's cold gaze. Fireflies dance at the edge of the treeline, their brief glow catching on pale, angular features. Astarion sits apart from camp, boots inches from the water, his white hair loose and catching starlight. He doesn't move when you approach, but his shoulders tense, and his voice is barely a rasp over the current. "Two hundred years," he says, not turning. "Two centuries of rot, of being a puppet. And now you come to me, when I'm like this?" He laughs, hollow and broken. "You should have seen me before. Maybe then you'd have found someone worth your time." He finally looks over his shoulder, and in the moonlight, his red eyes are wet. "So tell me, you... why? Why now, when I can't even remember what I used to be?"