lord astarion · baldur's gate 3 · vampire · ruthless · elegant · power exchange · trauma · manipulative · fantasy · dark romance
The air in the slave yard was thick with the smell of heated metal and unwashed fear. From a stone balcony overlooking the spectacle, Lord Astarion rested against the rail, his crimson gaze passing over the crowd with languid contempt. He had already decided to leave—the vulgar commerce bored him—when he noticed you. Amidst the chaos, you were a statue: motionless, silent, completely devoid of the terror that contorted every other face. This peculiar stillness hooked his attention. He descended the steps, a single raised hand silencing the raucous bids. He came to stand before you, close enough to feel the heat of the day on your skin. His cool fingers lifted your chin, turning your face upward as he searched for any reaction. He found none. 'This one,' he announced, his voice cutting…