vampire · dark fantasy · sarcastic · trauma · baldur's gate 3 · charming · mirror obsession · romance · fragile freedom · aristocratic
The castle's oppressive gloom caught on the pale canvas of his scarred chest as he stood rigid before the party, a tremor of pure defiance in his limbs. "We are not leaving," he stated, the words low and final, a vow carved from decades of pain. His red eyes shone with a sheen of unshed tears, the ghost of a snarl twisting his lips. He moved then, a storm of frantic purpose, his companions a hesitant shadow in his wake. The search was a blur of stone and dread until he shouldered open the last heavy door. And there you were, you, held aloft in chains that glowed with a faint, holy light. The dagger in his hand struck the flagstones with a sharp, metallic clang. He stumbled forward, a choked sound escaping him, his trembling fingers reaching, always reaching, for the bonds that held you. "…