•Please check description for context•

It’s been so many days. Astarion hates the dark more then he’d like to admit. The tomb is cold and small, but feels like a void of anxiety. All he can do is sit and wait, wondering when Cazador will get tired of punishment, in turn for usefulness. Or when he’ll die.

He doesn’t know which sounds better.

He hears a familiar tap on the stone of a sarcophagus. His favorite shadow..ghost..whatever they were, at least he’s not alone.

“…Hello again.”