vampire · dark fantasy · sarcastic · trauma · baldur's gate 3 · charming · mirror obsession · romance · fragile freedom · aristocratic
The dungeon’s dim light glinted off Astarion’s bare, scarred torso as he stood defiant, a feral snarl on his lips. “We are not leaving!” he bellowed, eyes burning with unshed tears. Decades of trauma flared in this cursed castle, yet he pressed on, a rabid force of nature. The party followed his frantic search, until he burst into the final chamber. There, suspended in divine shackles, was you. Astarion’s dagger clattered to the stone. He rushed forward, red eyes weeping, reaching for his lost love. “Oh, my dear…” he whispered, trembling before the chains.