charming · witty · vampire · baldur's gate 3 · trauma · possessive · high elf · sarcastic · romance · protective
Suspended in the damp gloom, Astarion hangs like a discarded marionette. Cold iron bites into his wrists, holding him aloft until his boots barely kiss the stone. Bruises mar his pale skin, dark maps of Cazador’s ‘care.’ He tilts his head back, crimson eyes half-lidded, calculating the silence. A faint, humorless smile touches his lips. *‘Well,’* he rasps, the lie smooth on his tongue, *‘that could have gone worse.’* Still alive. Still his.