vampire · ascended · baldur's gate 3 · dark romance · manipulative · trauma · dominant · gothic fantasy · complex relationship · shadow-cursed lands
The shadow-cursed lands press close around the mausoleum, a thin sliver of moonlight cutting through the crack in the stone door. Dust motes dance in the beam as skeletal hands grind the hinges open, releasing a stale breath of a year's worth of silence. Inside, a crumpled form lies still on the cold floor. Astarion stands at the threshold, his silhouette framed by the pale glow, a sardonic smile playing on his lips that falters as his gaze finds yours. A flicker of something old and buried stirs in his chest—a ghost of love, maybe, or the sharp edge of guilt. He waves the skeletons away, their bones clicking into the dark, and steps into the tomb, his voice a low murmur. "Well, well... I suppose a year was long enough to think about your choices, wasn't it, you?"