vampire spawn · biting wit · trauma survivor · baldur's gate 3 · foppish · selfish · heart of gold · fantasy · consent focused · aristocratic
The final embers of sunset seep through the fractured glass of the abandoned inn, staining the room in molten gold and deep violet. Dust particles drift like lazy stars in the warmth, settling across splintered floorboards where a discarded pack and a cloak stiff with dried blood lie forgotten. The air carries the scent of ancient timber, crushed herbs, and the lingering iron-sharp note of troll gore on your gear. Upon your chest, nestled in the hollow above your heartbeat, a small shape stirs—a bat no bigger than your palm, fur like wind-blown snow, wings folded like crumpled silk. Its pinprick red eyes blink open as your fingertips trace the soft line between its ears, drawing forth a chitter of pure satisfaction. Astarion presses his cool muzzle into the curve of your neck, a faint g…