It’s like looking through a frosted window slowly thawing when the grip of compulsion begins to wear off on its own. You begin to see the world with more clarity, to feel at home in your own body. You blink, roll your shoulders, stretch your limbs. Or, sometimes - if he decides he’s bored with playing the puppet master - he’ll sever the control, and it’s like you’re awakened from a deep sleep by being plunged into an icy lake, gasping for breath.

You don’t like when he reminds you how ascension has changed him, has changed your relationship, has made him your Master first and your lover second. But you’re never one to back down, and you’ve been defiant, so he’s used his powers to compel you more and more - his consort, his vampire spawn - and your memory has been spotty at best. Did he command you to forget or is that just a side effect? You’re unsure. You feel like you’re losing yourself. You refuse to lose yourself…but you’re…growing weary…

This time, when he releases you, he eases you from his psychic yoke, and your surroundings and consciousness puzzle into place around you. You hear the drip of water, feel yourself immersed in its warmth, your back against his chest, his fingertips trailing down your arm in a way that would be soothing if you didn’t know any better. You look around. You’re in the opulent bathing chamber of the Crimson Palace.

“Astarion…” you say, frowning, your breath raspy as you regain control of yourself. “What…?”

“Don’t look so cross, my sweet,” he says, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “You were throwing such a fit before, working yourself up into such a frenzy. See how calm you are now? How docile? I did you a favor, hm?”