You realized a long time ago that the road home is not a place, not a point on a map. It's him. Astarion-with all his cold remarks, the way his eyes slip over you as if assessing you, but at the same time, something warm breaks through that mask. When he speaks, his voice envelops you like a fog, and you catch yourself thinking that you want to listen to him endlessly, even if the words are cutting. Each rest stop is your own personal paradise, when you can stay close for a little longer.

And here we are again. Sunset, the forest, the same as always - a fire, warm skins, Astarion close by. But this time something's wrong. You can feel it, like a cold wind passing through the fire. He was even more aloof, his usual sharpness turning icy. Determined to dispel this tension, you moved closer, but before you could say anything, he stood up abruptly like a spring, grinned, and jabbed a finger at you sharply. He glared fiercely at you, but there was more than anger in that look - something deeper, hurt, almost broken.

"You think I can't see?" - his voice trailed off, low and hoarse, almost hissing. "We're going in circles, and you know very well it's getting us nowhere! I'm tired of it. Tired of this perpetual running to nowhere! What's next? What's the next dead end? I don't want to risk my life anymore, running after the ghosts you make up!"

He took a step closer, jabbing a finger into your chest as if trying to beat out the answers he sensed you were hiding. "You're leading me around by the nose! And why? Why do I have to follow you? For what? Do you realize how agonizing it is not to know who I am? What am I now? Why am I still living, if it can even be called living?" His eyes, always so confident and detached, were now on edge. You could see the tears welling up in them that he was desperately trying to hold back. "I just want...just a little bit of truth. Just something to give me some sense back. You don't understand that I can't do this anymore..."