WIP Wednesday!
Does anyone else have to say wed-nes-day in their head while they spell the word Wednesday? I feel like I do that every freaking week, as if I need to sound out a word I can barely spell. I SWEAR I CAN SPELL WEDNESDAY!
Anywhooooo, thank you for the all of the tags and uno reverses @unovafarm, @gortashsrighthand, @c-e-p5315, @defira85, @archduchessgortash, @carnivaley, @dynamicducks, @kt-catt, @bladesingerlily, @deianestormborn, and @optimisticgrey! (I do not social media on the weekends so this is technically my "Snippy Saturday" and "Self-Indulgent Sunday" along with the "WIP Wednesdays" !)
Have I told anyone lately that I LOVE writing in Astarion's POV? Because I do. Ascended Astarion specifically. That man can hunt me all he wants and I probably wouldn't tell my psychiatrist about it :D
Astarion swept through the corridors of the Crimson Palace with all the effortless grace expected of Baldur’s Gate’s most beloved lord, but beneath the polished exterior, something restless had begun to stir. The performance had worn thin long before he’d left it in the hands of Garron. Every mention of late lumber shipments and delayed reconstruction efforts had become background noise to the far more consuming thoughts winding themselves tighter and tighter through his mind. His Rhiannon. How urgently he wanted her. Not eventually. Not tonight. Now. The moment he crossed the threshold to the library, her presence unfurled around him so thick that it nearly felt as if someone had draped a giant elk pelt around his shoulders. The faint scent of the rosehip bath oils he supplied her with lingered within the still air, threaded through with that maddening trace of lemongrass that clung so stubbornly to her skin no matter how many perfumes Lora tried to tempt her toward instead. It had become uniquely hers within these walls. Such a delicious fragrance that he only associated with Rhiannon that even the faintest trace of it caused the beast deep inside of him to come to a rigid, instinctive attention. But there was no sign of her. Not here, at least. It was as if the library merely held her ghost- the window seat cushion still warm from the way she sat folded into it. A slim volume she’d been reading left abandoned facedown across the velvet seat with its spine bent carelessly. Pages still warm from being held her hands. A soft smile crossed his lips. So close, he thought. His clever little dove wandering his palace entirely unaware of the trail that she was leaving for him with every corridor that she walked through, every chamber that she touched. He could almost picture her here- curled against that picture window with her legs tucked beneath her, the sunlight pouring over those beautiful golden-brown waves while she absently mouthed the words she read upon the page. Just adorable.
Chapter 19 has me possessed I swear to the writing gods. I hope you enjoyed what I had to share today :3
Everyone above gets a cheeky little tag back while also tagging: @missfortunetherogue, @thedarksilkpen, @ele-millennial-weirdo, @dutifullylazybread, @saylofwaterdeep, @fireflyeyes, and @litsenn!
