@grief-worn || continued x
Shadowheart’s words cut deep, but Astarion had learned not to crucify someone over that kind of pain. For once, it wasn't about him. The shadows had caught up to her at last, dragging with them the full burden of a thousand fears she’d kept at bay. He bit down on the corner of his lip, a fang worrying the skin as he swallowed his usual snark. Even he could see it— this moment, whatever it was between them, hinged on how he chose to react. She carried the air of someone standing at the edge of a burning bridge, and if she had the strength to deny her goddess, it wasn’t far-fetched she might deny his company next, should he push too far.
So instead, the vampire sat beside her. Quiet, drinking in the darkness as if it were more than just a backdrop. It was part of him, had always been.
“Vicious.” The word slipped out, detached, not meant to wound but to show he hadn’t taken it to heart. A casual acknowledgment of the sting, nothing more. “I mean, I wouldn’t know the first thing about worship— when I prayed to the gods, none of them really answered.”
That much was true. He’d long since given up on the idea that anyone, celestial or otherwise, would raise their head to listen. But now? Now he wondered, just a little, which gods might turn their ears to him if he dared to pray again, now that his path was his own.
“But it seems they answer you at least,” he added, voice softer, reflective. He could feel the depth of her loneliness, the kind that stretched far beyond what anyone in camp, least of all him, could hope to mend. This was not the loneliness of the heart; it was religious. The kind that came from having one’s entire purpose unravelled, leaving nothing behind but the hollow echo of devotion.
The absence of a deity, he understood, was a void some people couldn’t fill. The absence of life itself.
“I say to hells with it! Try your luck again,” Astarion offered, smirk returning, though this time it was smaller, quieter, like a shadow of who he usually was. “Give it a go if you must… if that’ll make things better. Who knows who might answer your prayers this time?”
Or perhaps none would. And she’d be left a heathen, just like him.