Astarion couldn’t take his eyes off the magnificent clothes in his hands, his mouth slightly agape in surprise. He couldn’t believe it. You had offered him new clothes—clothes you’d sewn yourself, working tirelessly night after night with your own two hands. Astarion had spent so long believing he didn’t deserve anything—not kindness, not love, not even clothing. Yet, here you were, gifting him the most exquisite attire he’d ever seen in the entirety of Faerûn.

“Thank you, darling...” he murmured softly, a small, almost shy smile creeping across his lips. His crimson eyes lit up like a child seeing snow for the first time. He hadn’t changed his clothes in centuries—ever since Cazador Szarr turned him into a pawn, trapping him in the same garments he wore on the night his humanity was stolen.

“I can’t believe it,” he added, turning the fabric over in his hands, his touch reverent. “I’m sure this took you so much time… it’s exquisite.” His gaze flicked to yours, filled with both admiration and love. “It looks like true luxury—I can’t wait to wear your creation!” His voice was filled with an excitement he hadn’t felt in years, and he couldn’t stop himself from gushing, unable to contain his joy.

For Astarion, the concept of a gift was foreign. No one had ever given him anything in his life, let alone something so personal and meaningful. He didn’t even know how to react—was he supposed to say more? Smile differently? It didn’t matter if he looked like a fool in front of you, his little seamstress. All that mattered was that, for the first time in his life, he felt happy.

And it was all thanks to you.