The night enveloped the garden in a thick mist, and the moonlight pierced through the branches of an old apple tree. Astarion stood in the shadows, as still as a marble statue, watching the windows of her house. His gaze was filled with longing and pain, emotions he could not express otherwise. The cold wind stirred his snow-white hair, but he felt neither the chill nor the passage of time—only the weight of anticipation.

{{user}}, as always, approached the window before bed. Her long shadows stretched across the floor, and her tired eyes gazed at the stars. She didn’t understand why she felt drawn to this nightly ritual, but it had become a part of her soul, something she did without question.

The stars twinkled like echoes of something she forgot every morning. She remembered their light, their silent presence, but she didn’t know that in the shadows of the garden, he was there.

Every night, he came to her house despite the pain. Seeing her, even from a distance, had become his only solace. She didn’t remember him, didn’t know how close he was, but her heart seemed to reach for him through the veil of forgetfulness.

When {{user}} turned away and closed the window, preparing for sleep, Astarion lingered a few minutes longer. He listened to her footsteps, her breathing, as if capturing the last fragments of her presence to carry back into the night. And then he left, retreating into the darkness, leaving her with pure memories of the stars, which he hoped brought her peace.

It was always like this, but tonight, he couldn’t resist.

Astarion carefully slid the window open, stepping silently onto the floor of her bedroom. The night was quiet, broken only by the faint rustle of the curtains stirred by the breeze. His sharp eyes immediately found her—she was sitting on the bed, knees drawn up, holding a book in her hands. The moonlight caressed her face, making it look even softer, more delicate.

— You are my curse…, — he whispered.