thirsted | SALTBURNT

i will give them. to you, astarion, i will always give them.

[ She might be reeling a little from the mixture of imprisonment and her own hair-pulling, heartbreaking grief, warring with her innermost desires. ]

why?

Then trust in me to tell you when they are truly owed.

Why, because I wish to see you. Is there anything you'd like brought to you? Anything from your quarters or mine (or our little shared room). Perhaps a sweet roll or fruit?

i would only ask for you. i could not eat in this place, and i dare not sleep. i am afraid to.

[ She doesn't need to, technically, with the elven trance, but - it hits her, blindingly. She had slept beside him, time and time again, night after night. It might have been his blood upon her hands, might well have been his heart, his limb that she had taken, and the thought is enough to have her close to weeping once more in her little corner. ]

would you bring my cat?

[ The horrid stuffed animal the library gave her. He probably knows it well, especially since it now smells like the perfume he gave her. ]

One little cat, to be delivered posthaste.

[ It takes Astarion somewhere in the vicinity of fifteen to twenty minutes to make it down to the dungeons. (Well, "dungeons.") He's carrying the little stuffed animal (with a new moss-green velvet ribbon tied about its neck, only a centimeter and a half or so in width), as well as a small basket of food. She'd said she couldn't eat, but— just in case. He'll not have her starve if he can help it.

He comes to a stop at her corner — in front of it, sort of, given the bars that separate them — crouching down to briefly puppet the doll as though it's walking toward its owner.

With a little tilt of the doll's head: ] Mother! Did you miss me?

[ Lauralae has been curled in the corner, wrapped around whatever blanket she had been able to get her hands on - but what seems most painful about the situation is the bareness of her arms, the charcoal skin on show and her body twitching away from anyone getting too close. With no gloves and her medication worn away, any touch to her skin is a torment she cannot fathom, and her head aches from the way her fingers had brushed against skin and metal both in the last few hours.

Astarion's appearance soothes her, and she wiggles over, crawling with her knees dragging along the ground without care nor concern, until she can reach out and take the cat from his hands. She is so, so careful not to even hint at brushing their fingers together, to resist the urge to touch him and hold true to the person she is so accustomed to finding an embrace with.

She does not want to hurt him. She is afraid, so afraid of hurting him, of causing him more pain than she already has. ]

You have my thanks. [ Her smile is fleeting, a flash of something gentle on her face, before she settles down and leans against the bars. ] Please, please - are you well? Unharmed?

[ Fleeting, but a smile nevertheless. It makes it easier for him to smile in return, settling just inches away from the bars. ]

I am unharmed, [ he tells her, daintily tucking his knees up to his chest. ] And as well as I can be with you imprisoned.

[ He seems to look at her more intently, then, his gaze flickering away to take in the cell around her, its other inhabitants engaged in various pastimes. It's only fair, he supposes, considering that at least most of the murders were allegedly committed against their perpetrators' wills, but at the same time, it seems like something of a mockery, too. As if to say, it's not a big deal, when the loss of one's freedom, in fact, is. ]

Are you certain there's nothing else I can do?

[ His eyes fix upon her now. They haven't really talked about the nature of her curse in explicit terms. All he knows is tied up in how she acts around him, around others. To wit: ] I don't know that I've ever seen you without your gloves. I could fetch them, if you liked.

[ It is hard, to see his sweetness and softness and not wish to fall into it, not wish to curl herself into familiar arms and mould her skin against his. Matthew had told her that he did not think her nor Astarion monsters, not in the way that they might frame themselves, but she doubts him now - only for herself. When she looks upon Astarion now, so dear to her, pale skin mirroring her own and soft white hair opposing, all she can think is dearest, friend, pack; protect cherish save aid-

Instinct burns her more than anything else.

It is hard, to spent night after night burrowed with someone and not feel the burn of tenderness and affection curl inside her in earnest, a sweetness that entices her as much as it frightened her. ]

It is a kinder prison than may be deserved. It is treated as a - relief. What punishment is here, for blood spilled?

[ The blood on her hands, her teeth, behind her wild eyes?

Gazing at her friend, she presses her forehead against the cool metal of the bar, sighing softly. ]

My fingers hurt. Whenever I touch another, it is a knife in my mind, twisting, as if to draw the memories from me with the agony. I am used to the pain, it is why I lived alone so long, I didn’t not wish to feel it.

[ Her eyes fill with tears, and she gazes at her friend, black hands curled in the fabric of her dress. ]

I would like my gloves. I would like… [ Her head bows. ] I would like to touch you, without harming you with my being.

[ He hesitates only a moment before his hands move, seemingly of their own accord, to tear a strip of fabric from his sleeve. He's always been careful with the garments he wears, the precious few things he can call his own, but when he sees her tears, when he realizes that he cannot wipe them away on his own, not without hurting her, it seems the natural solution. As carefully as he'd passed her the doll, he offers her the strip of cloth, motioning just the once at the tears that well in her eyes.

Quietly: ] I had no idea.

[ The gloves have seemed so natural that the fact that she'd be hiding something so huge comes as a little bit of a shock — she's been braver than she's let on. To feel pain at any touch is one thing, to subject oneself to such loneliness for years is another. He knows that feeling well. To wit, ]

We'll figure something out, won't we, brave girl? You've friends aplenty, here — someone must know how to free you from that pain.

[ It hits him again — that feeling of helplessness, of weakness. He doesn't know how to help her, can't help her. All he can do is try to find someone else who can. ]

Besides— [ he smiles, tenuous ] —I told you, didn't I? We'll protect each other.

[ Eyes flickering over his face, Lauralae breathes out a sharp noise. It makes something inside of her ache, burning, pulling at her and making her feel sick, but there's more, too. There's a depth of warmth and adoration inside of her, and she wants more than anything to be in his arms, to be safe, to be taken care of.

To trust him to do that for her... It's terrifying.

Taking the cloth, she uses it to deal with her tears before she hesitates for a moment. Reaching out, careful of her hands, she presses the fabric against his cheek, and then lets her fingers trace the shape of it, blackened and deadly.

If she isn't careful, she could hurt him. But she will be careful. ]

I will do what I can. What is possible.

[ A breath. ]

You have my sincerest thanks, Astarion.

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