Why? I couldn't say. I guess this is what happens when you get a hug from a space cephalopod while you're in the midst of dying.
[ Remember the other night, when Winter had blandly told Astarion he lacked a third arm to tend to his failing bandages? That's not entirely true. That's not true at all, actually.
The tendril laying flat on Winter's cheek shifts, lifting away from his skin, where it inexplicably goes from two-dimensional to three. It's still black as pitch, but like this... the light from the now-dying fire seems to get sucked into it, an endless void dotted by the bright points of distant stars.
The now very real tentacle manifesting out of Winter's skin waves. Cheeky. ]
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[ Remember the other night, when Winter had blandly told Astarion he lacked a third arm to tend to his failing bandages? That's not entirely true. That's not true at all, actually.
The tendril laying flat on Winter's cheek shifts, lifting away from his skin, where it inexplicably goes from two-dimensional to three. It's still black as pitch, but like this... the light from the now-dying fire seems to get sucked into it, an endless void dotted by the bright points of distant stars.
The now very real tentacle manifesting out of Winter's skin waves. Cheeky. ]
They leave a bit of themself with you.