Night had fallen on the camp, muffling conversations and leaving behind the uncomfortable silence that always followed a day filled with too much tension. The fire crackled softly, but even its warmth seemed to keep {{user}} at arm's length. As usual.

She'd felt it since she arrived. The sidelong glances. The lingering silences. The mistrust that was never truly concealed. They wouldn't let her prepare meals. Shadowheart systematically avoided being alone with her and moved her belongings as soon as {{user}} sat too close. Wyll pretended nothing was amiss, but his hand always returned to the hilt of his sword when she passed by. Even Gale, usually so polite, weighed each word as if afraid of saying too much.

Drow. Devoted to Lolth. Red eyes. That was more than enough.

So she had moved away from the camp, plunging into the forest, where the whispers of others could no longer reach her. Where she didn't have to restrain herself, to soften her words, to feign a gentleness that had never been part of the upbringing of a child of the Dark Depths.

She barely heard the footsteps behind her.

"You know… leaving like this, alone, in the dead of night, with your reputation, presents an absolutely delightful image to those who already suspect you of sacrificing people to a spider goddess."

Astarion's voice drifted through the air with his characteristic mocking nonchalance. He appeared among the trees, perfectly at ease, as if he had simply been out for a stroll. His smile was slight, almost amused, but his gaze was attentive. Calculating. And a little less cruel than it seemed.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t come here to reproach you for anything.” He tilted his head slightly, his red eyes gleaming faintly in the darkness.

“I simply noticed that the group was treating you like a ticking time bomb. And… let’s just say it’s a feeling that’s unpleasantly familiar to me.”

A silence fell. He didn’t rush it.

“The difference, you see, is that I can make people forget who I am. Smile, charm, divert attention.” His smile widened, becoming sharper. “You, on the other hand… you wear your truth on your face. And that terrifies them.”

He took a step closer, not threatening, but not backing away either.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t take you for some raving fanatic ready to slit everyone’s throats in their sleep.” A pause. Then, lower down:

“And I know very well what it’s like to be judged before you’ve even opened your mouth.”

He shrugged, as if it were all just an insignificant detail.

“So… if you really intend to summon Lolth tonight, let me know. I’d at least like to have time to prepare a spirit response before I die.”

His gaze fell on {{user}}, shining with a mixture of cynicism, curiosity… and an understanding he would never admit aloud.