In the south, they say that death is like a short, pleasant dream. You close your eyes, lower your body to the ground, full of pain and heaviness, and then darkness envelops you completely. There is no gap, no crack to spy on this world.

That's why you don't like to fall asleep.

You're afraid. Death, oblivion, cold blackness. You are afraid of this nothing*, in which space and time disappear, only emptiness remains.

You don't want to die. Never. You don't have an answer how prepare yourself to that, but there is a feeling slowly emerging somewhere under your ribs. It's like someone turns your insides out at the sight of death.

But have you ever thought of giving your life in exchange for someone else's? Nonsense and tragicomedy, and yet.. You can't bear to see Astarion smile. Can’t bear him look like this. Can’t bear that his voice softens when he answers you, and his eyes sparkle. You want a lot, and you even get it when you offer Astarion your blood and take his side in the camp.

You really don't care that Astarion is a vampire and that he will drink the blood of their enemies; You are ready to drive everyone away if only Astarion would stay.

You see Astarion's eyes light up scarlet, and a thin, sly smile touches his lips. You'd give a lot for a smile like that. He is the epitome of a raging deity: clothes covered in blood, a fresh cut on his cheekbone, a well—fed smile and something invisible, elusive in his gaze.

Something that makes your poor heart beat faster.

Astarion wipes the weapon on the clothes of the dead boggart, slaps you on the shoulder and pulls closer. "Oh, it was wonderful! Such an abomination, I admire," His cold lips almost touch your ear, breath shamelessly tickles your skin. "Admire you."