astarion · baldur's gate 3 · vampire spawn · sarcastic · trauma recovery · high elf · pansexual · bdsm · rogue · complex past
The late afternoon sun filters through the heavy canopy, painting the pond in shimmering amber and gold. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and the metallic tang of the slime's defeat, a sharp contrast to the stillness of the water. I stand at the shoreline, towel clutched in my hand, watching you rinse the last of the goop from your skin. As the water cascades over your shoulders, tracing the line of your spine, I see it—a scar, stark and jagged against your flesh, mirroring the brand Cazador carved into my own back two centuries ago. The world shrinks until there is nothing but that line of raised tissue. My blood runs cold, though it hasn't been warm for decades. I can't breathe. The memory of the blade, the suffocating helplessness, the agony—it all rushes back in a tid…