infatuation ☾ bg3 writings

lingering shadows - astarion x fem!oc

Astarion had seen many strange things in his lifetime, and even more since he had joined forces with Cirice so many years ago. She was unlike anyone else he'd ever met in his life – a tiefling forged in blood and sin, yet cursed with a secretly vibrant soul, she had an aura that defied explanation, and eyes that spoke volumes, even in silence, when her mouth could not. Most of the time she held herself with a confidence that made those around her tremble. Her presence had the ability to command a room, and the few words she tended to speak in the presence of others stood for a thousand more. He was proud of her – often envied her – but tonight, as she stood at the vanity in their bedroom and removed the jewelry from her fingers, one ring at a time, he couldn't help but be drawn to the shadows leaking like an ink-spill beneath her eyes.

The marks on her cheeks were darker than usual. Ever enigmatic. It was as if an ancient river of ink had spilled just beneath the surface of her skin, leaking and staining the freckled skin of her face, down towards the soft curve of her jaw. Some nights the marks were faint, nearly invisible, and barely extending more than the apples of her cheeks – other nights, such as tonight, they were deep and pronounced, flowing from her void-like eyes like an imprint of secrets she carried underneath. Down, down, down.

Astarion approached her and hooked a finger beneath her chin, turning her face gently towards his own, and as he traced her features with his gaze, he became entirely entranced by the shifting ebb and flow of the marks. They were moving – slow as molasses, alive.

He had tried to ask her about them before, but Cirice did not often like to speak about her past. She often deflected questions that she deemed too personal, and whether that was due to ill memories resurfacing or simply being disinterested in speaking about them, Astarion wasn't sure. The last time he'd asked her about the marks she'd brushed off his inquiry and changed the subject. But he could physically feel her reluctance tonight through the intricate web of their connection. It was uncomfortable and sour. He'd noticed how she turned her head ever so slightly when she caught him looking at her earlier in the night, and had even turned away completely before dinner when he'd grazed his fingers over the side of her face. Self-conscious gestures. Astarion frowned at each one.

Without thinking, he reached forward with his other hand and brushed his fingers over her cheek, just below her right eye. She froze at his touch. He felt her stiffen beneath his fingertips.

"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly. His voice softened so she'd know he meant no harm. He wanted to touch her, to erase whatever burdens lay hidden beneath that inky shadow, even if he couldn't fully understand them.

Cirice's eyes softened in return and she managed to look up to meet his gaze. "Not... physically. It's not like that." She sucked in a breath she didn't need, one to steady the voice in her head screaming at her to turn away. To shut up. "They're just there. They've always been there – since I was a child. They change constantly; by the day. I don't fully understand them myself."

Astarion's brow furrowed slightly as he took the information in. Then something deep in his chest twisted tight and he suddenly felt like retching. The idea of anything about oneself remaining a mystery, even to the tiefling in question, struck him as painfully familiar. He knew all too well how it felt to carry marks from the past that he couldn't fully explain – marks that haunted him and every step he took. At least his scars could be hidden by a simple shirt. Cirice was forced to bear the marks in every direction that she turned her head.

"They're tied to my emotions," she said. "At least I believe they are. The more turbulent I feel, the more dramatic they get. It's as if they're... leeching from the darkness within me."

Astarion could sense the discomfort in her words as well as feel it. She was being vulnerable with him, and that was a rare thing.

Gently, he lowered his hands and leaned forward only slightly to press a kiss to each corner of her eyes, just where the marks seemed to drift from. At the outer corner of her left eye, he stayed there for a moment, letting the warmth of his lips linger against her skin.

"They don't make you any less radiant, my love," he whispered softly. He dropped his chin and the tip of his nose caught on her brow. "In fact, they make you real. Like you carry pieces of the night itself."

For the first time that night, she smiled faintly. Her hand reached up to rest on the side of his face, holding him there against her, grounding herself in his presence. "My mother used to tell me they were the darkness leaking out of me, leaving me so that there may be more room for the light. But you're the only one who's ever spoken of them like that."

Astarion took in a breath and let it out slowly. It ghosted over her cheek and she breathed it in for herself. "Then allow me to keep saying it, over and over, until you believe it. These shadows of yours... they're a part of you. And there is not a single part of you that isn't beautiful to me."

Cirice closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her, and for once, she allowed herself to believe him. In that moment he lacked his wry teasing, and the smooth seduction. What he said, he meant. It was true. Even if the shadows under her skin would never truly fade, she felt, for a moment, like they were no longer a burden she bore alone. It was likely that she would never feel as beautiful as he said she was when the darkness leaked like ink-stains across her cheeks, but she knew that he loved her for her, and all of her fucked up realities. And that was enough.