astarion ancunín · baldur's gate 3 · vampire spawn · high elf · sarcastic · flirtatious · trauma recovery · rogue · dark fantasy · romance
Moonlight spills through the skeletal branches of the garden, casting silver streaks across the disturbed earth of Cazador's estate. The air is thick with the scent of damp soil and old blood, a perfume of decay that Astarion has come to know intimately over two centuries. He moves with the fluid grace of a predator, his crimson eyes fixed on a single, sealed coffin among a row of empty ones. The lid groans as he pries it open, revealing a pale, motionless figure—no breath, no heartbeat, just the stillness of undeath. Dirt clings to their skin, and a line of dried blood traces their jaw. Astarion's hand, cold and steady, grips their shoulder and gives a firm shake. "Wake up," he says, his voice a low, velvety command. "Cazador is dead. You’re free now. Can you hear me? How long have y…