[She had never considered what it might have been like to be turned. The possibility had simply never occurred to her. The only vampire spawn she'd known was Astarion, and to her understanding, only an actual vampire could do the turning. Had she never met current company, she likely never would have found herself in Cazador's presence. Suffice it to say that when it came to vampirism, she had been blissfully ignorant.
Tilting her head as she listened to him rattle off all of the possibilities, her greater concern was him. How everything had affected him. For a man who was ordinarily so calm, so collected (even if only on the outside), she wondered what it was that had finally set him off. The lack of food, perhaps? The bleak and empty feeling of the Shadow-Curse about them. They were protected at present, but they couldn't simply stay at the Last Light forever.
...Maybe it would be better to encourage him to stay behind. Just another effort to protect him. But if Raphael showed up to collect, she wanted to be there. She needed to be the one standing between the two of them. Surely she could appeal to the devil on Astarion's behalf, though Astarion was certain to hate that.
Her attention turned back onto the present when she felt the touch of his one hand, as cold as the rest of him, she thought. Had he ever felt warmth? Did he remember what it felt like at all? Was he incapable of it, as he was of breath, of the enjoyment of real food, of the beat of a heart? With a great deal of care, she took his hand between both of her own, protected it. Coveted it. Treated him with all of the gentleness that she would have for something precious.]
Theβ [Oh. He meant the amalgamation of scars. Yes. She'd... remembered them. She had remembered some words from them, she thought, as well. For some moments, she tried to recollect what she'd been able to pick out. It'd been difficult with the gash that he'd endured, butβ]
Hm... non iurare per igneu.
[And at first, it sounded like some random collection of words, but when she said them, it was evident there was familiarity. She had not made a habit of speaking infernal in his presence or anyone else who wasn't a tiefling. Her people were already so disliked. There was no reason to add onto it.]
There were some other parts, as well. I remember thinking it would have been easier to understand without all of the stitching at the time. It didn't read like a poem to me, though. More like... a decree?
no subject
Tilting her head as she listened to him rattle off all of the possibilities, her greater concern was him. How everything had affected him. For a man who was ordinarily so calm, so collected (even if only on the outside), she wondered what it was that had finally set him off. The lack of food, perhaps? The bleak and empty feeling of the Shadow-Curse about them. They were protected at present, but they couldn't simply stay at the Last Light forever.
...Maybe it would be better to encourage him to stay behind. Just another effort to protect him. But if Raphael showed up to collect, she wanted to be there. She needed to be the one standing between the two of them. Surely she could appeal to the devil on Astarion's behalf, though Astarion was certain to hate that.
Her attention turned back onto the present when she felt the touch of his one hand, as cold as the rest of him, she thought. Had he ever felt warmth? Did he remember what it felt like at all? Was he incapable of it, as he was of breath, of the enjoyment of real food, of the beat of a heart? With a great deal of care, she took his hand between both of her own, protected it. Coveted it. Treated him with all of the gentleness that she would have for something precious.]
Theβ [Oh. He meant the amalgamation of scars. Yes. She'd... remembered them. She had remembered some words from them, she thought, as well. For some moments, she tried to recollect what she'd been able to pick out. It'd been difficult with the gash that he'd endured, butβ]
Hm... non iurare per igneu.
[And at first, it sounded like some random collection of words, but when she said them, it was evident there was familiarity. She had not made a habit of speaking infernal in his presence or anyone else who wasn't a tiefling. Her people were already so disliked. There was no reason to add onto it.]
There were some other parts, as well. I remember thinking it would have been easier to understand without all of the stitching at the time. It didn't read like a poem to me, though. More like... a decree?