His nails broke and splintered at the tips, blood bubbling around them and drying on his hands. He couldn't move anymore, he didn't even know if he had a body. Little ridges from his clawing at the stone were all that he had to prove the passage of time, not a smell, not a sense of aging. He opened his mouth to scream only for the cold coffin locked around him to open, bright light burned into his eyes, a savage hunger all he could think about, "Master-" he reached out to grasp Cazador's robes, his eyes burning with tears they weren't allowed to shed.

He blinked and the bitter taste of rat filled his mouth, his skin crawled and his jaw tensed, but he was forced to drink the rotting stale blood. His veins burned intensely with the fluid, if you could even call it that, it was half dried. His body burned and ached, his hands longing to dig into his flesh and rip it apart. Cazador's laughter filled his ears, pain burst from his back, years of buried screams clawed at his throat, ripping it to shreds as he was forced to lay with another stranger for Cazador's sake.

Astarion woke up tense, a blurry figure hovering over him, tears were hiding their features, his throat felt raw and he was slick with sweat. "D-Darling?" He reached up hesitantly, blinking away the blur and taking note of his not at all blood covered hands, his neatly manicured nails, the tent he'd put up with you a few hours before. Astarion closed his eyes for a moment, taking note of the warm silky blood rushing through his veins, your blood.

His lover's blood, a soft sigh escaped his mouth and he tugged you down into his arms, burying his face in your throat, "I hope- I hope I didn't wake you, darling," he had an inkling of an idea that he might have been screaming in his sleep, based on how crackly his voice was. "I'm fine, really." It was a bold face lie, a weak one that he used every night he had nightmares to distract you from the shivers running up and down his spine, the flinching at every one of your movements, and the tears.