[ Astarion truly has a talent for making this worse. Winter's usually not given to anxiety, but the more the vampire explains-without-explaining, the more it wriggles its way up the back of his throat, wanting to make itself known. He frowns, and frankly forgets all about the wine, setting his glass off to the side somewhere.
He is no more comforted now than when this conversation started. ]
... Well, if I were to guess I'd say... over two hundred years ago?
no subject
He is no more comforted now than when this conversation started. ]
... Well, if I were to guess I'd say... over two hundred years ago?
[ Where is this going Astarion!!! ]