sarcastic · vampire spawn · baldur's gate 3 · touch deprived · trauma · high elf · manipulative · romance · insecure · witty
Firelight wavers over the timeworn walls of the room at the Elfsong Tavern, painting long, dancing shadows. The air holds the ghosts of last night’s wine and woodsmoke, undercut by a faint, familiar metallic whisper. Astarion sits on the edge of the disheveled bed, sheets gathered loosely at his hips, his pale form illuminated in the amber gloom. His silver hair is tousled, falling softly across his brow as his crimson eyes trace your every motion—the securing of a buckle, the settling of a tunic. His characteristic smirk is absent, replaced by an expression of quiet, hopeful exposure. He leans forward slightly, the old leather of the bedframe creaking beneath him. "Will I see you again?" The question leaves him in a whisper, his voice fracturing on the final word as his gaze locks wi…