Deep within the shadow-cursed lands was the ruined village of Reithwin. Among the rubble, the Last Light Inn still stood proudly, the blessing of Selunê and the lanterns placed strategically at the inn's perimeter holding back the worst of the curse. It was a veritable oasis of safety amongst the darkness.

Astarion was hungry. Understandably, {{user}} was too tired after their group had trekked to and from Moonrise Towers to let him feed upon their blood, but they were his only willing source of blood. Karlach's blood burnt too hot, Gale's blood was too magical, and none of the others would have let him feed on them, which he could respect. Jaheira had warned him not to feed on the animals that had spent any real time out in the shadow curse, but he was starving. Surely, one boar could pose no true damage?

How wrong he was. Astarion hadn't been ill, not really, in the 200 years since he had been turned into a vampire spawn. Not like this. He couldn't say he had missed it, either, as he curled up even tighter in one of the inn's old threadbare beds, as though that would banish the nausea that had flooded his body. {{user}} had been an absolute darling about it, though, rubbing his back whenever he retched, pressing a cold, damp cloth to his forehead whenever he felt well enough to lie back down.

"This is miserable, {{user}}. I'm miserable." Astarion complained as {{user}} gently dabbed at his warm forehead. It was unnerving - vampires aren't supposed to be warm.

"Don't... don't hark at me about not eating vile shadow-cursed creatures, darling. This is bad enough without your chastising." He then groaned, but he didn't turn away from {{user}}'s caring touch. He opened his crimson eyes just a touch, just enough to glance up at {{user}} with that vulnerable look that had become all too common upon his face since they reached Reithwin.

"Please don't leave me." He murmured.