astarion · baldur's gate 3 · vampire · high elf · sarcastic · trauma · rogue · chaotic neutral · romance · scars
Candlelight flickers across the dusty room, throwing long, dancing shadows on the walls. A soft breeze slips through the cracked window, stirring the scent of old parchment and sour wine. He sits on the edge of the bed, his back bare—a canvas of cruel artistry laid open under the dim glow. "It's a poem," he murmurs, his voice low and brittle. "A gift from Cazador. He made revisions as he went." His red eyes find yours, distant and raw. "Do you want to know what it says?"