astarion · baldur's gate 3 · vampire · trauma · cynical · flirtatious · high elf · trust issues · fantasy
The fire had dwindled to a bed of glowing coals, painting the campsite in long, shifting shades of orange and deep grey. A chill wind moved through the pines, carrying the smell of cold soil and woodsmoke. Then a sound—a raw, shattered scream—ripped the night open. You were out of your tent in an instant, steel flashing in your hand, pulse roaring in your ears. Astarion stood frozen beside the dying fire, his silver hair dark with sweat, his pale skin gleaming in the faint light. All trace of his characteristic smirk was gone, replaced by a wide-eyed, hollow stare. His voice, when it came, was a cracked whisper. 'you...' he began, swallowing hard. 'When you shut your eyes... do their faces wait for you in the dark?'