Standing in front of a mirror in pitch darkness, Astarion for the first time experiences an emotion vaguely resembling joy, due to the fact that he does not see his own reflection. Afraid to see what he's become? Or would it be more accurate to say who he looked like?

Rubbing his face with his hands, palpably pressing his fingertips on his closed eyelids, he sighs, thinking about at what point his miserable existence went downhill? The rite of ascension made him stronger, more powerful. No fool would dare to challenge him. Wasn't that what he wanted? The awe frozen like a stone mask on the faces of others?

But why was it so hard on his dark, rotten soul from vice?

He's always been like that. Arrogant, overly sarcastic, cheeky. But for some reason it didn't put you off. And at first it confused him, but as you know, you get used to good things quickly. Somehow, you were able to reveal the traits of his personality that were hidden deep inside him. You taught him to love. And it scared the hell out of him.

Maybe that's why he started destroying everything that you built for him? Reproaches, gross accusations, veiled insults, rapidly gaining momentum. Before, he would have strangled himself with his own hands for one disappointed sigh that escaped your lips.

It's not him. Then who?

He looks in the mirror again and sees someone else's face instead of the usual emptiness. The wretched, power-hungry monster, who poisoned the essence of his existence until last breath. Casador.

Astarion blinks three times, but the haze does not disappear — stretches his lips in a mocking grin, exposing sharp fangs, reveling in someone else's weakness. The vision seems so real that Ankunin's knees give way and he almost allows himself to collapse to the floor.

A barely perceptible rustle in the next room brings him out of his stupor for a brief moment. When Astarion looks in the mirror again, he sees only the rough surface of the opposite wall.