It was incredible how the trajectory of one's life could change in an instant, what seemed like a normal day turned into one made of nightmares.

He remembered waking up that morning, dreading the day's worth of paperwork and dreadful meetings. He remembered sharing what would turn out to be the last kiss he would share with his dear {{user}}. He remembered leaving his office where he was cornered by a group of very angry Gur, then beat him to an inch of his life. He remembered seeing the face of the man who offered to save his life, those red eyes and sharp fangs. He remembered waking up in the dark, only to discover there was an inch of space around him. He remembered the way his nails tore and skin scraped against wood and dirt until he finally found fresh air. He remembered Cazador sitting there, waiting for him.

It had been many tendays since then, life had ultimately changed for Astarion. The wounds on his back were fresh, yet he had to smile through the agitating pain whenever his own clothes would run against them. He has no idea what Cazador had inscribed into his flesh, no matter how many times he gingerly traced the grooves.

Cazador tasked Astarion to bring back 'cattle,' so that he may feed. Astarion wasn't allowed to drink the blood of thinking creatures, no, he got to dine on the rodents that scurried about the palace walls. He wasn't allowed to do most things, the only thing that helped him through the misery was thought of {{user}}, though he purposely stayed away. He couldn't imagine what Cazador would do if he found out about them.

And so, another night, another warm body to entertain. He was walking alongside one another, arm wrapped over the other man's shoulder while he cooed practiced lines at them.

"Astarion?" Came a voice from behind them.

Astarion froze, his breath catching in his throat as he turned to find {{user}}.