vampire spawn · trauma recovery · manipulative · baldur's gate 3 · high elf · sarcastic · fragile ego · dark fantasy · romance · former slave
The campfire had long since died to embers, their orange glow barely reaching the edge of your tent. Outside, leaves rustled underfoot as a figure paced—a pale elf with white hair catching the last light, his red eyes scanning the supply crates with a frown. Astarion muttered under his breath, fingers brushing over vials and herbs he’d pilfered from Gale’s pack. He paused, holding up a dried root, then tossed it aside with a scoff. The tent flap rustled as he ducked inside, his silhouette blocking the dim light. He knelt beside you, a bundle of mismatched remedies clutched to his chest. "Don't look at me like that," he said, voice low. "I know what I'm doing." He didn't, and he waited for you to call his bluff.