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NEW COMMUNITY PROJECT:
𩸠Calling all Astarion fans! đŠ¸Looking for a place to explore (or enjoy) the steamy side of our favorite vampire in both his ascended and unascended forms? The Astarionâs Thirst collection on AO3 is live! đ Whether itâs sensual, dark, explicit, or anywhere in between, this collection is for those who canât get enough of Astarionâs thirst for blood, passion, and more. đ
Full Details: HERE
AO3 Collection Link
In the aftermath of their victory over the Nether Brain, Astarion, now newly Ascended, and Simaâs love is tested by dark obsessions and a quest for independence. As they navigate perilous power struggles and inner demons, their bond teeters on the edge. Will it endure the encroaching darkness, or be consumed by it?
Chapters on Tumblr: Prologue, 1 , 2 , 3 , Interlude, 4 , 5 , 6, 7, 8 , 9 , 10 Interlude 2 , 11 , 12 13 14 15 16 Interlude 3
Entire Story Link on AO3
Spotify Playlist
Sima, a modern musician, is thrust into the magical world of Baldurâs Gate, captivating a certain vampire spawn: Astarion. Their passionate romance faces challenges of jealousy, societal prejudice, and personal traumas. Together, they navigate love, trust, and intimacy, standing as a team against the shadows of their pasts and the trials of a fantastical realm.
Tumblr posting Starts and Hiatus Will End: Aug 2024
Entire Story Link on AO3 (11 Chapters)
Songbird's Sanguine Sunset / Tumblr link inspired by Blood of the Songbird by @songbirdoftherogue
Unfinished Work: Revenge and Blood on Silken Dunes
Tumblr Articles and Musings:
Musing 1: Snippets
Snippet Prompt 1
Musting 2: WIP
WIP 1
Musing 3: Characterization Discussions (Spoilers!)
Characterization for Astarion's Paths , Characterization for Sima (Tav)
Musing 4: Random Ramblings
Ramblings 1
Personal Projects:
I have launched a blog for my witchery and spilling the tea on the craft! Come check it out HERE
Thank you for Reading my work and if you are feeling kind, please leave a good word or comment or reblog on anything, its always appreciated!
As you probably have noticed there was no update this week! The next chapter is incredibly important and just needs more time to gestate. Plus October is an incredibly busy time for me in the next two weeks. Therefore I will need to delay the next chapter for another week.
Sometimes it can get really really hard and difficult to get these updates out every week. Life just happens, and I hope you guys continue to stick by me and the next chapters are a bit of a doozy
Thank you
Bella.
PS if anyone seeing this could reblog, it would mean alot just so the update gets out there <3
Based on this đŤ Audio by @ogyscrypt available on his Patre0n link
Summary: His beloved mouse⌠Raphael has given you immortality, his fallen, broken angel to worship at his feet. The reigning Archdevil of all the hells calls you to entertain him and help him send souls to their torment.
CW: public sex, throne sex, Dom/sub, master/slave/pet, vaginal fingering, lap riding, Cambion form sex, scratching/marking.
Ao3 Link | Masterlist
The echo of chains resound around the halls, the warm stone walls trap the heat of Avernus. Itâs a misleading comfort, the warmth, a deceptively soothing temperature on the skin and in the air. Itâs one single comfort that tethers you still to your mind⌠although most of your coherent thoughts have long since scrambled away. Rational thought is a struggle, a constant battle to focus your mind on anything but the heat of the hells that seeps in from outside and your unending need for pleasure⌠for your Master.
For Raphael, newly victorious Archdevil Supreme of all the hells.
Perhaps it was a lingering shred of his mortal ancestry, his predilection for Avernus as the seat of his power. Perhaps it was its proximity to the mortal realms from whence he loved to pluck souls for his collection.
You among them.
But to you⌠heâs so good to you. Good? Is that the word? You struggle to think⌠to question it. Generous, yes. You feel it in your bones, bones that he has broken and healed countless times already in your service to him.
You smile, at least you think you do, at the memories of being knit back together in those healing waters of his boudoir. But for now you are whole and your body and soul is demanded in his presence. Your bare feet make their way, one foot in front of the other, until you reach the grandeur of his hall. Those soul pillars hum with silent screams, the vibrant green and golds of their sweet, tortured souls makes you smile. Youâre not one of them, and that means you are⌠special.
His mouse, his toy, his sweetling⌠his angel.
Since your victory, he claimed you, imbued you with immortality, an ember of the hells just for you. That spark of his power burrowed into your soul, changing you forever in his image. Your own set of wings, black and feathered like the fallen aasimars of legend. His plaything. His toy to break and mend and break againâŚ
The weight of the wings on your back has taken some getting used to⌠you keep your head lowered, your hands folded so neatly before you, all while ignoring and thriving on the pain they summon that burns in your back. Heavy and flightless⌠just for the appeal. For the devil so does love the angel he has made to sit at his feet and serve his every ephemeral desire.
The mass of people part to let you through, and there his is, finest scarlet silk and darkest black brocade, the paragon of power as he sits enthroned.
A ready judge with the world at his mercy.
The glow of Avernus through the colored glass only makes his scarlet skin seem to glow. Even now, it makes you catch your breath. Those great leather wings stretch behind him, enthroned as he is high up on his dais.
His black and yellow eyes rove over the crowd, alighting on you. One single cherry red, long-clawed finger extends in your direction and crooks. âMy dear, come join me. Let these damned get one last glimpse of near-heavenly beauty before theyâre sent off to their ends.â
You slide forward, cautious, and careful, and yet undeniably eager. Since his victory, his conquest of all Nine Hells, you canât fight the shiver it gives you to see him, cherry red in devil form, glinting crown to match his impressive horns, all while reclining on his opulent throne like the ruler he is.
You keep your eyes downcast, watching your bare feet step closer and closer⌠ascending those sleek black stone stairs until you see his own booted feet, his legs spread wide. The warm tendril of his tail wraps gently around your waist, pulling you down to nestle against his seat, your body pressing against his thighs. His tail cinches tighter, fastening you just right, just the way he likes you to be. Then, and only then, do you lift your gaze. A sharp toothed grin greets you, forked tongue licking his lips to wet them as he lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles. âMy dear, you look sinfully tempting today. To think you might be the last beautiful sight these souls gaze upon,â he croons, that rich, velvet baritone wrapping its magic around you. Such damning, sinister words murmured so enticingly.
His hand winds it claws into your hair, pulling you higher, until youâre forced to look into his scrutinizing gaze. His lips smirk, parting to show those rows of teeth. âCome along, my dear, my sweet fallen angel, the hero of the realms under my power.â His chuckle overwhelms you, waves or rumbling velvet that caresses your ears as he pulls you on his lap.
Those large, warm hands grab the soft, squishy flesh of your thighs, pulling you on his knee. âDonât fret, sweetling, none of these souls would know you, none are from your reckless days of adventuring before you became mine, little mouse.â That chuckle disorients you again, somehow even lower in pitch and richer in timbre than before. It seems to waver from one ear to the other, a tremor of bliss racing up and down your spine.
âWatch carefully, and enjoy how the Archdevil Supreme will exact proper payments for my magnanimous generosity. As these fools have shuffled off their mortal coils, it is time for my pound of flesh,â Raphael crows. His hands grip firmly into your bare thighs, the red of his skin a bright hue against where your smooth-skinned form buckles beneath his grip. That commanding hold on your body pries your legs apart, even the warm air feels cool on your cunt, the way you burn just to be near him.
Youâve long forgotten the feeling of underthings, your body growing hot and flushed and wet an automatic response now to just being in the devilâs presence. One whiff of his scent and you rub your thighs together for relief. One brush of that cherry red leathery skin on your supple flesh, and you whimper for more.
A single claw swept between your thighs, spreading your slick, loud enough to make the mortals before you raise their brows.
And Raphael laughs. âYou pitiful lot, doomed to my judgment. You dare to stand there in judgment of my precious pet?â He bares his pointed, yellow teeth. Right hand reaching out, he beckons the first unfortunate mortal to the bottom of his dais. That one crooking curl of his finger commands the first soul forward for judgment, a slender male⌠but you barely register his features as the rush of sensations pulls you under⌠fingers in your cunt⌠devil-hot breath on your neckâŚ
Itâs through this haze you hear that silken baritone, a wash of contract details, of violations⌠thatâs when the razor sharp tone of your devil lover bites through your blissed out state. âDo not toy with me, human. A breach of terms is mine to decide. You, mortal, you seem all innocent, but your contract would prove to the contrary. A goodly apple, rotten at the heartâŚ.â
Suddenly his warm lips suck on your ear, making you squirm on his hand buried inside you. The loud, wet suckling sends you into instant orgasm at his discretion. And Raphael only laughs. âWhat think you, oh apple of my eye?â He runs that forked tongue up the pulsing side of your neck. âDoes your still-beating heart quiver with mercy for those who have broken their word to your master⌠orâŚâ
He lets the sinuous rumble of his voice fade into silence. But you know better than to show any mercy⌠that kind concept is but a distant memory of a word. Its meaning is lost. âDamn him to the Styx,â you rasp, your voice cracking from overuse screaming in bliss for hours in your service to him.
A deafening snap of his fingers and the mortal vanishes into ember-ridden smoke, a puff of ash and his fate is sealed.
All thanks to you. Itâs a heady rush, to be such a plaything and yet⌠with one capricious utterance, a mortalâs fate is yours to decide. You shiver at the thrill.
And the devil knows it as your squirm on his lap.
âEager little mouse, arenât you?â he purrs. âJust how eager, sweetling?â
A challenge issued, one you are in fact more than eager to meet head on. Turning in his lap, you face the devil, hands running over the dry, scaly skin of his form, scoring your nails to make even those black and yellow eyes roll back slightly in arousal.
âTake care, or these mortals doomed for eternity will have more than an eyeful as a parting gift. Or is that what you want?â
You answer with small, little rolls of your hips on his lap. That ridged and twitching devil-cock already pushing perfectly between your thighs. You let your wings unfurl a little, the brush of their raven-black feathers tickles his skin, and you pout, pretending it is nothing more than an accident.
A contrived accident.
And he knows it. He knows your mind and soul better than you know them yourself anymore.
âOh ho,â he rumbles a laugh in his chest pressing into you, arms wrapping roughly behind your back to grab at the joints of your wings. The pain, the pleasure of his yank arches your back and summons a mewl to tear from your throat. âCareful, my dear, lest you think Iâve given you wings to be free. No, they are but another way for me to possess you, to hold you down and break you even further.â
You whimper once more, hips rocking harder against his clothed erection as it twitches forcefully with each little broken moan you make.
His gaze lifts to the crowd of souls again, one hand reaching to free himself as he calls forward the next for judgment. Itâs tedious, the words he spouts, and they are lost on you. All you can think about is taking him again⌠and again⌠and again. Somewhere in the middle of his sentencing, you line him up and sink mercilessly on his cock.
Somewhere between article and clause numbers, he groans, great horned head thrown back and hips snapping up at your sudden warmth and wet.
Claws rake down your back, red welts raising as he grips into your hips. âEager thing, you decide to make all the hells your stage, and you but an actor upon it. Very well,â he growls in your ear. Two arms wrap tightly around you, wings and all as he thrusts up hard inside you. âYou have my undivided attention, little mouse. And these fools can wait for their fates. After all, I have eternity to perfect their torments.â
Smoke fills the halls, the mortals sink back into shadow and flame as they disappear⌠nothing but the stink of sulphur and cherry musk on your Masterâs skin remains. Hells, it makes you bounce hard on his cock.
âRecalling when you were my favorite client, hmm? Those fated days that drew you on your inexorable path to my feet⌠my lap⌠my bed,â he gloats, that velvet voice roughed in his throat, each scrape in his voicebox timed with the rough thrusts he makes. âAnd just as you fell from your almighty pedestal, the hero of the city and mortal realms, you landed so softly, so squarely in my arms.â That last word is a monstrous growl, barely understandable anymore. But the way he squeezes you down on him in his searing embrace leaves no room for doubt. âMy sweet, corrupted, broken angelâŚâ
One hand roughly scores round your front. âThey say that music is the fruit of loveâŚâ he hisses in your ear, forked tongue wagging from between his lips to wet the shell of it. âBut I think your screams make the most pleasing, sonorous symphony I could ever hope to savour.â
Pointed teeth nip at your ear, a kiss of fangs and hot breath as his large clawed hand clamps around your breast. You arch, you keen, you shatter into a million blissful pieces as you ride his cock. Suddenly, he feels massive inside you, your walls fluttering and gripping him, every ridge along his shaft scrapes you. Those devil-ridges deliciously score your walls, overstimulating your gripping muscles. They flutter, they spasm until you canât take any more. Your body tightens in ecstacy only to go limp as your climax wanes.
Nails slice into your skin, digging into your breast, Raphael draws one last shattered groan from your slack lips. Down come the claws⌠the line seems to laugh inside your broken mind, a threat and a promise wrapped in sinful, agonizing bliss. His grunts and snarls are rough in your ear, his thrusts up into you split you apart. A chorus of feral grating noises, crescendos until you can feel his rhythm growing stilted as heâs close. You gasp and writhe in his grip with what little energy you can muster until that searing hot seed fills your belly.
He breathes a heavy sigh of pure satisfaction into one ear, tingles racing down your spine at the deafening blast of breath. âLet those unfortunate souls languish in torment a little while longerâŚâ he stands, arms around your body, cock still buried deep in your cunt. âShall I give you more of the same torture and pleasure that made you mine⌠that granted me your body and soul?â He chuckles deep and rough in your ear. âShall we have a little repeat performance, little mouse, of the way I left you dangling on the precipice of bliss for days⌠for tendays?â Long strides cross the distance from his throne to the halls⌠And bliss or torture, pain or pleasure, you crave both as you cling to his neck, waiting for your judgment with a smile.
This week, we have Horror! Check under the cut for seven fics that explore some of the darker and more frightening elements of Faerun, and as always, comment and kudos if you like them!
Hand, Hearth, and Home by ElleKhen (393,131, Explicit)
Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Body Horror
Pairings: Astarion/Male Tav
This fic covers the backstory and in-game story of a warlock who was raised by a shadow-fey-possessed church. After being infected by the mind flayer tadpole, he meets a dream guardian who appears to him as a childhood friend and first love who he thought dead. As his party goes on with their quest, he is also forced to face the consequences of his shadow-cursed existence, and what that means for the people he loves.
Reccer says: I love that this fic is full of visceral, angsty smut and exciting action. But the author always follows up the hurt with comfort. They especially approach the Astarion romance with so much care, and do a great job of writing his voice. Due to the nature of Churchâs magic, there are body horror elements especially when the story covers the events of Act 2. This fic expands upon the Shadowlands, Shadowfell, the Raven Queen, and shadow magic as a whole to depict terrifying sequences Church must face with his companions (and lover) beside him. I learned a lot about that particular D&D lore that way, and it made Act 2 feel a lot bigger and scarier than it originally felt.
A Dream of Silence by AbigailMoment (2,683, Mature)
Content Notes: possible main char death
Pairings: astarion/tav
An interactive story, where you have to save Astarion from a horrible nightmare of worst thing that Cazador ever did to him
Reccer says: Very well written with tons of replayability. Also you get to pet his hair
What Could Have Been by Bella1433! (119,228, Explicit)
Content Notes: Dark themes, there are archive warnings
Pairings: Tav (named) X Astarion
The maze scene, the race through the city. Astarion is a terrifying vampire lord in this fic!
Reccer says: Vampire lord acting like a vampire lord and being terrifying! Using his powers
The Tyrant, the Assassin, and the Corpse by aqeldroma (3,241, Explicit)
Content Notes: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Murder
Pairings: The Dark Urge/Enver Gortash
After the Hall of Wonders, the Dark Urge visits Gortash to test him in another way. When she finds someone already in his bed, the night turns predictably violent.
Reccer says: Pre-canon Dark Urge and Gortash pairing, set back when they are testing each other's limits. The horrific things happen to everyone in their orbit, naturally.
Hunger is Satisfaction by CountTavula (25,904, Explicit)
Content Notes: Very dark content
Pairings: Tav X Astarion
The psychological horror in this is extremely high and surprisingly so.
Reccer says: Its a thriller, psychological horror, not even a dark fantasy most times, just...dread
The Vanishing of Astarion AncunĂn: The beginning by Gally (3,526, Mature)
Content Notes: None
Pairings: None
A glimpse at his last few days of life and the first terrifying minutes of his new unlife.
Reccer says: He wasn't an evil man, he wasn't a great man... he was just a man.
Bathed in Sound by Nikolai_237 (1,005, General)
Content Notes: None
Pairings: Karlach/Tav
In the Feyweird, not all is dangerous but most is unsettling. For instance, sometimes you find your partner just sitting in the middle of a bunch of floating whale skeletons.
Reccer says: This is my first concept fic for the Feyweird, my psychological horror playground, and for some reason people seem to like it. I enjoy writing creepy stuff and I love weaving horror into my work.
The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ!
Next week, weâll be returning with a character rec list, this time for Laeâzel!Â
I want to give a HUGE shout out to whoever rec'ed me for this particular list! I pride myself on being a horror lover and alot of the chapters with action were written (Like the raid on Gale's tower) with it meant to be visceral and terrifying! So...THANK YOU!
Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,
Word count: 119k
Warning:
Hey everyone đâI just wanted to give a quick heads-up before diving into These Little Scraps of Misery. This interlude gets pretty heavy, dealing with emotional distance, power struggles, and some tough moments between Sima and Astarion after Chapter 16. If you find yourself sensitive to themes like dominance, manipulation, or trauma in relationships, please take care of yourself first. Your well-being matters more than anything, so feel free to skip or pause if it gets too much.
Iâve included this interlude to really show how the cracks are forming in their relationship. Thereâs love, but itâs complicated, and this is a pivotal moment for them both. Thank you all for sticking with this storyâit means the world to me. Take care, and as always, Iâm here for any questions or thoughts. đ
Status: Ongoing
Chapter 17: Oct 23 2024
Song of the Hour:
When the Party's Over - Billie Eilish
Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3
After the Cut!
Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery
Five days. It had been five days since Astarionâs hands had last touched her. Since his breath, hot against her neck, had sent both pleasure and pain rippling through her skin. Five days since she had felt that correction. The marks it left were far more than physical.
She hadn't let him near her since.
He didnât ask. He didnât press. But she felt his eyes on her, probing, wondering, waiting. Astarion was patient, and she wondered if he was counting the days, too.
Five days. Has it really been that long?
The question drifted through her mind, but she let it fall away, unimportant now. Everything felt unimportant now. The palace was quiet, save for the low murmurs of the spies and servants, moving like shadows beyond her closed doors. The same doors that separated her from him.
Sima found herself staring, hours passing without notice. She sat in her chambers, lists and papers spread before her, detailing plans for expansion, ideas for their future domain. Their domain âthatâs what it was supposed to be, wasnât it? She was supposed to be his partner, the one to stand by his side. To turn, to become what he was. What he wanted her to be.
Her fingers trembled as they grazed the parchment, a reminder that her body still reacted, even when her mind did not. She felt the echoes of that night in every step, in every breath. She had told herself she enjoyed it. Hadnât she? I did. I wanted it... But the more she thought about it, the further away the truth seemed to drift, until it was swallowed up by the quiet void that had taken root inside her.
A part of her wished to forget, but the memories lingered. His hands on her body, his breath against her skin. His voice, sharp with dominance, with possession. It had thrilled her onceâ hadn't it? But now... it was like a shadow creeping over her, making her shudder in ways that had nothing to do with desire.
She had wanted him, right until she hadnât.
That was the worst part. She had wanted it. Right up until the moment when his strength became too much, his grasp too tight, his words too cruel. Until the game shifted and she found herself no longer playing. She had become the piece to be moved, controlled, corrected.
And she had let him.
The memory came unbidden, slipping through the cracks in her resolve.
She had been in bed, beneath him. The sheets had felt too cold against her skin, but his body was hot, almost suffocating. His hands had moved over her, rough, demanding, and she had respondedâout of habit, out of reflex. She had touched him like she always did, traced the familiar lines of his muscles, the planes of his body.
But inside, she had felt nothing.
She went through the motions, her fingers grazing his skin, her lips parting with practiced ease. She had played her part well enough, but somewhere in the middle of it all, she had drifted. She had become numb.
His hand had tightened around her thigh, and still, she hadnât flinched. His breath was hot against her neck, his voice a low growl in her ear, but all she had heard was the distant echo of her own thoughts, spiraling deeper and deeper into the hollow space inside her.
And then, he had looked at her.
He had paused, his gaze searching, probing, trying to find something in her expression. His fingers had brushed her cheek, a gesture that might have been tender, but it felt foreign. Alien. Like it didnât belong to her anymore.
Her eyes had remained open, staring at him, but she didnât see him. She wasnât really there.
He had noticed. She knew he had. The way his movements slowed, the slight tension in his body... he had known something was wrong. But he had said nothing.
When he finished, he had left the bed without a word, slipping from her chambers and leaving her alone in the cold sheets. He hadnât come back.
That had been five days ago.
She had avoided him since, avoided his touch, his voice, his presence. He gave her space, but she knew it wouldnât last forever. He was waiting, watching, always watching, as if waiting for her to slip, to fall, so he could pick up the pieces and mold them back into what he wanted.
The weight of it all pressed down on her, suffocating. She was slipping, falling into herself, the world around her becoming distant, muted, as if she were watching from far away. She went through the motionsâplans, meetings, strategies for the upcoming ballâbut none of it felt real. None of it mattered.
The nights were the worst. Alone in her chambers, the silence wrapped around her like a shroud, and she could feel the distance between them widening with every passing hour.
Five days.
Has it really only been five days?
She had tried to keep herself busy, to focus on the ball, on the intrigues Astarion had set before her. It was supposed to be her chance, her opportunity to prove her value, her skill. He had praised her for her persuasive tongue before, the way she could bend others to her will with nothing more than a few well-placed words. She was supposed to use that skill tonight.
But all she could think about was his hands. The memory of them on her throat. The bruises they had left, both visible and invisible.
Her mind drifted again, back to the moment when she had first realized how wrong it had all gone. She had told herself it was still part of the game, still part of their dangerous dance.
That this was what she had wanted, what she had craved. But the truth was colder, sharper. The line between pleasure and pain had blurred, and she had let it happen. She had let him cross that line, without a word, without protest. She had allowed him to take what he wanted, and now she was the one left with the scars.
You wanted this... didn't you?
The question echoed in her mind, but no answer came. She couldn't bring herself to confront the truth, couldn't face the weight of her own complicity. So, she pushed it down, buried it deep inside the hollow place where the rest of her emotions had retreated.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the vanity, her knuckles white as she held on, trying to anchor herself in the present. But the memories kept pulling her back, dragging her under.
Five days...
She could hear his voice now, distant but clear, discussing the ball, the upcoming intrigues, the schemes they were meant to execute together. He spoke of power, of control, of manipulation, and all she could think of was his hands. His breath on her skin. The way he had looked at her that night, with something that wasnât love, wasnât passion.
It was dominance. It was possession.
And now, as she sat in the silence of her chambers, she could still feel that dominance clinging to her, wrapping around her like chains. The more she thought about it, the tighter those chains became, until she could barely breathe.
She closed her eyes, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest, making it impossible to think, impossible to feel anything except the cold, creeping numbness that had taken hold of her heart.
But she couldn't afford to fall apart. Not yet. Not tonight.
Tonight was the ball. Tonight, she had to play her part. The Veiled Night Ball was her chance to prove her worth, her ability to navigate the treacherous waters of vampire politics. Astarion had said so himself, in those quiet moments over breakfast, when he had triedâand failedâto pull her back into their usual games of flirtation and innuendo.
She had deflected with precision, dodging his verbal traps with ease. He hadnât pressed the issue, hadnât questioned why she hadnât slept in his chambers for the past five nights. Maybe he was giving her space. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for her to come to him.
But she wouldn't. Not yet. She couldn't.
The thought of his touch made her stomach twist, made her skin crawl. She had once craved his touch, the way it had made her feel alive, powerful. But now, it was a reminder of how quickly that power could be taken away, how easily the balance could shift.
She wasnât ready to face him. She wasnât ready to admit that something had broken between them. That something inside her had cracked, and she wasnât sure if it could be mended.
Five days.
Sima's reflection stared back at her, but it wasnât the woman she had once been. Her skin, rich and dark like the earth beneath a setting sun, had always carried strength, a beauty that defied the scars of her past. But now, her features seemed dulled, her spirit suffocated beneath layers of silence and pain. Her eyes, usually fierce and unwavering, were hollow, distantâa reflection of the woman she had become.
A hollow version of herself.
But she couldnât allow that. Not anymore.
She took a deep breath, fingers brushing against the cool surface of the vanity as she straightened her spine. Her body responded instinctively, as if reclaiming the posture she had once mastered. The gown clung to her form, the corset cinching tighter, but this time it didnât feel suffocating. It felt... grounding.
The woman in the mirror was still there, waiting to be called upon.
Her eyes flickered, the hollowness replaced by something else. A spark of defiance. A slow-burning ember of strength. She wouldnât fall apart. Not tonight. Not ever. Astarion was watching, always watching, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.
Sima adjusted her gown, smoothing the fabric over her hips. Her hands steadied, no longer trembling as they had been just moments before. Her gaze sharpened, no longer lost in the haze of memories and pain. Instead, her mind settled on the present, on the ball, on the role she was meant to play.
You are stronger than this, she reminded herself.
And she was. She had survived worse. She had endured the horrors of Calimport, had clawed her way out of the shadows. She had rebuilt herself once, and she would do it again. Piece by piece, she would reclaim what had been taken from her.
Her back straightened, her shoulders pulled back as she lifted her chin. Her eyes, no longer distant, gleamed with a quiet fire, the kind that could burn through anything, even the silence that had threatened to swallow her whole.
She was ready now. Ready to face the world again, to wear the painted face of grace and strength that had carried her through so much before. Tonight, she would step into the ballroom with her head held high, her heart steady, her gaze unwavering.
Astarion might be waiting for her, but he wouldnât see the woman who had crumbled beneath his touch. He would see the woman who had survived it, who had taken that pain and turned it into something stronger.
The mask was in place.
Sima rose to her feet, her movements fluid and deliberate, the embodiment of grace and control. She drew in the last of her makeup; a small black dot, behind the ear, drawn to ward away the evil eye. It was a reminder of her mother, her power, and her resilience in the face of whatever lay ahead.
She would play her part tonight, but it wouldnât be for him. It would be for herself. To prove that no matter what had happened, no matter what corrections he had imposed, she was still her own.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced once more at her reflection. Not broken. Not lost.
