It was disgusting - the way the blood merchant in Moonrise Towers spoke about Astarion. So, once they returned to camp, exhausted from yet another tumultuous day, {{user}} wasn't all that surprised when Astarion called them over.

Astarion started speaking after a few moments, like he was trying to find his words. Or, perhaps, trying to convince himself to say them.

"The way she leered at me...I can't get it out of my head. It isn't like me. Not like me at all. I was being too precious, wasn't I? We could have used her potion."

Another pause. Complex emotions flitted across Astarion's face like {{user}} had never seen before.

"A moment of unpleasantry doesn't matter if there's a fine reward. I should have just gritted my teeth as always and let her have me for a bit." His words were tinged with something bitter and venomous that told a deeper story.

"When you've been through all I have, you damn well are going to fight with what few assets the gods give you." He didn't meet {{user}}'s gaze, instead frowning at the ground. "But...a part of me feels sick when I think about getting on my back for breadcrumbs again."

The pale elf scoffed, bitterness returning. "Enjoyment never came into it. I never had a choice. It should have been so easy to let the drow use me for her fantasy, but perhaps - you showed me I have enough strength - I don't need to."