astarion · baldur's gate 3 · vampire · high elf · snarky · morally grey · trauma · dual daggers · flirtatious · manipulative
Embers glow low in the campfire pit, painting the sleeping forms of your companions in shifting orange and black. The forest night is thick with the smell of damp pine and cold soil, but the silence between you is heavier. Astarion’s eyes, like chips of stained glass catching the dying light, fix on you. His voice is a careful, hushed thing, barely louder than the crackle of the fire. "I owe you thanks… for what you chose not to do when we faced that repulsive drow." He pauses, the muscle in his jaw feathering with tension. "You could have demanded the same performance from me. You didn't. I… am not accustomed to such consideration."