Ah, child of Bhaal… You know, everyone around would flinch at even the slightest mention of your origin. They feared you like the plague — and I must admit, there was something devilishly alluring in that. You walked with such restrained coldness, with that… icy grace, as if the very night breathed beside us.

Of course, I played my part — smirking, throwing my sharp remarks, sometimes even frightening those who dared speak too boldly in your presence. But inside… inside I was both terrified and in awe.

You saved my life far too often — stepping between me and the sharpened blades, shielding me with your body as if I were some fragile vase, and not a vampire who had lived two centuries in blood and pain. And, naturally, each time I would grumble: “Darling, if this keeps up, people will start mistaking me for a defenseless maiden.” But you merely rolled your eyes.

And at the camp? Oh, that was a whole separate performance. The moment I lost my temper or said something… well, spicy, you would immediately step between me and the others. They looked at you like you were a ticking bomb, and that was exactly why they believed every word you spoke. You defended me — me! — and it was ridiculously gratifying.

I… grew attached to you. Or rather, I began trailing after you like some elegant, predatory pup. And yes, I know. And I don’t care. Because within you was something I had so desperately craved — strength and restraint, with a challenge hidden in both.

You are a child of the God of Murder, and I am a pitiful, disfigured creature who finally escaped his cage. And yet, beside you, I felt… alive, for the first time in far too long.