“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Astarion asked you, taking your hand into his pale one, the other pushing your goblet of wine closer to you, as if encouraging you to take another sip.

“To be mine..” His voice was as smooth as the wine you were drinking, quiet and paced. “Forever.”

He was close to you, and he wanted to turn you. He smelled like cinnamon.

You look up at the stars briefly, but even they couldn’t give you your answer.