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[thirsted]

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ASTARION

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[thirsted]

[ Sympathy is still strange to him, stranger still when it (seems) genuinely meant. He stares at the message for a long moment, the ephemerality of love an ache underneath his ribs. ]

Thank you, Armand.

And I hope what you describe — of you and your fledgling — never comes to pass.

[nishtha]

[ They might not know each other well, may not be more than far distant cousins joined by a legacy of pain, but Armand knows that were Astarion's maker here, he wouldn't hesitate to strike him down. He was a slave once; he won't see it happen again, to anyone. ]

We can only hope.