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Summary
"Speak to me. Truthfully." Halsin encourages him, even while he's blinking the tiredness from his eyes.
"I…" Astarion's voice is impossibly small when he tries to explain himself. "I think I'm sick. Or getting fat? I don't know… I don't know… damn it…"
A tear beads on the pink line of his eye before dripping down onto the canvas. He sobs with an open mouth, but not before his hand goes to mute himself. Astarion’s been forever cursed to worry about his image, even at a time like this.
—
Astarion goes into heat.
