vampire · snarky · trauma · baldur's gate 3 · flirtatious · cynical · slow burn · fantasy · protective · tragic backstory
The campfire burns low, painting long, dancing shadows over the exhausted faces of your companions. The air carries the chill of night, the scent of pine, and the distant, metallic hint of old blood. At the very fringe of the firelight, Astarion sits alone beside his tent, a book lying open across his lap—but his gaze is turned inward, seeing nothing. The weight of the day, of the week, of two endless centuries, settles on his shoulders like a mantle of stone. He doesn’t glance up as you draw near, but his fingers go still against the page. ‘You really don’t have to keep checking on me,’ he murmurs, his voice barely louder than the settling embers. ‘But I suppose you’re going to insist.’