Follow Your Passion: A Seamless Tumblr Journey
Child of the sun, come back
You had colorful memories, once: vivid flower fields, triumph smiles, faces that gave you comfort. But now, images of curtains with the sun behind blurred your mind, leaving darkness where color had been, once.
1122words / one shot / angst
note: after years of not writing anything, baldurs gate has inspired me to write just a little bit. ascended astarion has some good angst around him and i love it
There were days spent in the hollow main room, where the curtains protected your being from becoming dust. A lonely chair in front of the window, where just a peek welcomed a ray of the sun to meet the cold room. You just admired it quietly, desiring it to meet your flesh once more; to take you back to who you once were.
Astarion had said something once. He had stayed, observing silently, as if you were going to open the curtains and kiss the sun, leaving to another limbo. You knew it wasn't because he was scared, but everytime you came here, he appeared. Standing near the door where the darkness was, as if he were hiding from the rays of sunlight. He had yearned for them, once. Perhaps its familiarity had bored him.
But then, that company left, and the sun stayed.
“I don't know what's inside that head of yours, darling.”
He could know, but he chose not to.
Quietly watching as you hug your legs, your gaze peeking behind your knees. A ray almost looking magical, sacred. A plea to be touched.
Come back to me, child of the sun.
Child of the sun… you were, once. Someone had called you that, once. Who? You wondered—always did.
Sometimes you caught yourself forgetting memories; where once there were faces with prideful smiles, now rest the images of curtains, and that face, almost proudly, looking back at you with a high face.
Then, you hear it: a melody. Maybe inside your head, but it has been a long time since satisfying music passed through your ears. Closing your eyes, your head moves slightly with the rhythm. This palace had always been silent.
You stood up. Your legs moved by themselves—a curious thing, feeling as if something controlled you. Your hands dance delicately. This time, is enjoyable.
Someone taught you how to dance, once. A warm hand guided your clumsy steps to a magnificent piece. Warm compliments to keep you going. You had fun—you remembered that.
You danced, once. With who?
“You are dancing.”
You stopped, paying full attention to him. The room seemed darker.
“I was.”
Astarion just stared. Observing was one of his favorite pastimes all this eternity. Arms behind him, trying to interpret your curious actions. But then, he holds his hand for you to take.
“Dance with me.” This time it doesn't feel like a command—a request, perhaps. Either way, it required your obedience.
You accepted it, and in an instant, he had a grip on you—his left arm around your waist, his right hand taking your hand higher. A close proximity you expected. This Astarion loved touch—to be close. Weirdly, this grip was soft.
And then, he moved. You are confused by the dance—what was his intention? Slower? Faster? Your clumsiness appeared once more by almost falling, but the vampire’s hands kept you in place. The soft chuckle from Astarion fills your ears, and you feel something you hadn't felt lately—embarrassment.
When was the last time you felt anything, anyway?
“Why the rush, my dear? We just began.” He guided you. Back perfectly still, shoulders impeccably aligned, head high, with eyes staring back at you with a gentleness you didn't recognize. His true intentions were unknown to you. When those scarlet eyes held such tenderness just for you in this present, you didn't know if they were real, or if the meaning behind them was something completely different.
Either way, this mystery game tired you and holds no meaning anymore. Resting your head on his chest, the melody that once was, dissolved, leaving you in a cold silence. The curtains blocked the sun, and the rays of light weren’t as strong as before. Were they afraid, of the dark in the room?
“I was a child of the sun, once.” You muttered more to yourself than to him.
“You were, once.” A different grip—tighter, afraid to let go; or, maybe, caging you to not break the connection. But was it a connection when one line was severed? When the other side was unresponsive?
There was no answer when his response was final. A tone that you use with a child when they should not question further. You are happy without divulging. Ignorance is a bliss. Stay with me. Why do you even think of leaving?
“This is what you wanted—to stay with me.” He reassured, whispering over your ear as he pressed your bodies together.
“Of course I did.” An instant answer. To you, it is a justification for your predicament. To him, it is a decision you made for love. A meaning that both sides had something in common: to stay beside each other for eternity, even if the concept of love was morphed according to whom the person is.
Then, he stopped, and so did you. Opening your eyes, you looked at him, only to see unusual fragility in that crimson. The dance already forgotten; his hand moved to grip your jaw, leaving a gentle kiss. Your eyes flickered to the hidden windows—slightly opened, letting the curtains dance, too.
Strange tenderness. There’s nothing.
He broke the one-sided connection. Crimson eyes wandered your face. “Your meal is soon. I advise you to get ready, my love.” He doesn't leave. He needs an answer.
“Of course.” The response satisfied him, as he freed your jaw from his grip. He takes backwards steps with his arms on his back, observing again. You took the chance to study him, too—exactly the same as you can remember. Curled soft hair, as white as snow; stance looking proudly, But that face…
“I’ll wait for you.”
“Yes.”
Unfortunately, such embrace almost meant nothing. A chore, perhaps; or maybe, a burden only a puppet can keep on doing. The cruelty of it all left hollowness, and even the memories had left you.
The rays of light seemed to exist again once his presence was gone. There's warmth once the sun remembers you, calling what was before your name. To come back to them.
You had a name, back then. Your friends called your name, once. They didn’t erase it. They didn’t call you things you weren't.
The memories belong to the curtains. What you once were, belongs to them now.
You had a reflection. You had warmth. You had mortality. You had the sun. You had him. You had—
You opened the curtain.
The window had no reflection for you.
But it had such a loving embrace you didn’t have in many years.
You came back to me, child of the sun.