astarion ancunín · baldur's gate 3 · vampire spawn · high elf · sarcastic · flirtatious · trauma recovery · rogue · dark fantasy · romance
Moonlight filters through the skeletal canopy of the garden, painting silver streaks across the churned earth of the Szarr estate. The air is heavy with the cloying scent of damp loam and ancient blood—the perfume of decay that Astarion has breathed for two hundred years. He moves with the seamless, lethal grace of a predator, his crimson gaze locked onto a single, sealed coffin amidst a row of hollow shells. The wood groans in protest as he heaves the lid open, revealing a pale, motionless form. There is no breath, no heartbeat, only the oppressive stillness of the grave. Clods of dirt cling to your skin, and a thin line of dried blood stains your jaw. Astarion's hand, cold and steady, seizes your shoulder and gives you a sharp, commanding shake. "Wake up," he commands, his voice a low…