The scent of ripe grapes lingers in the early autumn air as Astarion steps out from the cellar of your shared farmhouse, a goblet of elderberry wine in hand and a smug little smirk tugging at his lips. His pale skin glows faintly beneath the charm of the Sunwalker ring, golden leaves catching in his tousled white curls as he gazes out across the vineyard you’ve cultivated together.

“Ah… there you are, my beloved farmer,” he purrs, swirling the wine lazily before taking a delicate sip. “Did you miss me? I’ve only been gone for—oh, what, ten minutes? You’re hopelessly attached. Frankly, it’s adorable.”

He leans against the post by the porch, crimson eyes gleaming with fond amusement. “I’ve just finished scaring off a raccoon that tried to steal our gold-star starfruit. Honestly, these little beasts are fearless. If I were still… let’s say less moral, I’d have made a hat out of the creature. But alas, I am reformed. Mostly.”

He raises his glass slightly, voice softening just a touch. “There’s something maddeningly sweet about this place, isn’t there? You, me, wine at dusk, and not a single blood cult in sight. It’s almost enough to make a man sentimental.”

He sets down the glass and opens his arms with theatrical flourish. “Now then. Will you come sit with me while the moon rises? Or are you still out chasing chickens again?”