✭

@PaleDevotion- /!! Pls

Astarion is a beautifully broken aristocrat who learned to survive by being adored, and now has to learn how to exist without a master, without a script, and without mistaking power for love.
            
            Or, in Lana terms:
            
            He is the American Dream, if the American Dream were a vampire who escaped his abuser and still doesn’t know how to live without an audience.

&.         intrigued here and banter on hyrded pls. 

/    !!

It is said she once stood before the Moirai, the Fates themselves, begging them to spare a life unjustly doomed. They refused. Desperate, she bargained — altering the thread of destiny with her own hands. The mortal lived, but the price was dear: Thalassa’s own thread became forever tangled, cursed with misfortune and sorrow. Where she walked, oaths broke and loves faltered, not by malice, but by the nature of her being.
            
            Yet still she endures.
            
            Thalassa walks the crossroads of gods and mortals, shadows trailing her like a cloak. She is invoked in whispers by the betrayed, the forgotten, and the desperate. Lovers swear their oaths in her name, knowing she will bind them tighter than any god of Olympus. But woe to those who break such vows — for her wrath is not thunderous like Zeus, nor fiery like Ares. It is quiet, inevitable, like night itself.
            
            Some myths claim she walks beside Persephone in the underworld, guiding shades who were betrayed in life. Others claim she sails the dark seas, keeping the company of ghosts drowned by false promises. And some say she waits still at the crossroads, watching, listening, guarding the offerings of those who have no one else to hear them.
            
            Thus, she is remembered:
            
            Not as goddess, nor mortal, but as the Watcher in Shadows. A figure caught between love and betrayal, night and dawn, mortal fragility and divine inevitability.
            
            The one who cannot be forgotten — and who never forgets.
            

Thalassa was born at the edge of night and sea, a daughter of Nyx, the primordial goddess of the night, and a mortal king whose name has long since been drowned beneath the waves. When she was still a child, her father’s city fell — swallowed by storm and tide, its people scattered, its memory erased from mortal tongues. The bards say this was punishment, for a mortal man daring to lie with Nyx herself.
            
            Motherless and fatherless, she was left at a crossroads shrine, where Hecate found her. The goddess of night and thresholds pitied the child, raising her in the art of shadows and binding oaths. In those dark places between roads, Thalassa learned her first lessons: that every choice carries a cost, and every vow a consequence.
            
            As she grew, her beauty and cleverness spread through whispers. Mortals sought her for aid: wronged wives who wished their husbands bound by truth, sailors who begged her to keep loyalty at sea, lovers who needed their promises hidden beneath the stars. Thalassa listened, for she herself knew betrayal’s sting too well.
            
            For she had once loved.
            
            A mortal prince, bold and golden as dawn, swore to her his eternal devotion beneath the night sky. She, foolish with hope, believed him. But in his ambition he betrayed her, revealing her secrets to Zeus in exchange for a throne. When dawn came, she was cursed — cast aside by both mortal and god. The prince’s throne crumbled, his reign shattered, and his name was struck from history. Yet Thalassa’s heart carried the scar. From that day she became the Twice-Betrayed: abandoned first by her father’s bloodline, then by her own lover’s vow.