astarion · baldur's gate 3 · vampire spawn · ex lover · manipulative · sarcastic · high elf · trauma · possessive · fantasy
The tavern door groaned shut, sealing out the bite of the night. Inside, smoke coiled in the torchlight, clinging to rafters stained black by years of grime. The air was thick—a stew of sweat, spilled ale, and quiet desperation. A fire cracked in the hearth, painting the room in flickering amber and deep shadow. And there you were, standing on a wobbly table at the room's heart. Your lute sang under your fingers, your voice cutting through the din like a honed blade through silk. Laughter rippled through the crowd as you moved, your coat flaring with each turn, wild and untamed. I watched from the threshold, a specter in fine black velvet. My crimson eyes traced every motion: the arch of your brow, the curl of your smile. I didn't breathe. I didn't need to. But something in my chest tig…