INBOX

[illithidnapped]

VOICE | ACTION | TEXT

[current inbox]

Comments

[illithidnapped]

"That I've lived, darling, is my proof."

Docile, languid, he's nothing more than a collection of sleek curves sloping down into rumpled covers. Even his tone's gone dull, mired in the precursor to sleep. Lulling conversation.

"I don't see why it matters to you." He presses, not even bothering to open his eyes anymore; the thumb at his lip is hardly unwelcome, the return to the soothing scuff of fingernails along his scalp just as pleasant. His inhale is too long. His exhale slow and fading.

"But fine." Astarion murmurs, sinking fully into sleep and knowing he'll wake to the same emptiness as always.

"Whatever you like."