[He's disappointed to find that limit, the line where Emet-Selch refuses to let him press on— but there's no childish, insistent tug: Astarion prides himself on dignity, even in mischief, and if that is where he reaches the endpoint of their little game, so be it.
His thumb offers one last, lingering scuff along the edge of gilded cuffwork, deliberate and appreciative— and then he's let go entirely. Graciously, in fact.]
You're not a god, and you're not a demi-god— and you don't look like any vampire or cambion I've ever seen, nor necromancer for that matter.
So how on earth are you so long-lived? Because unless you're simply lying to me, I don't see how it's possible.
no subject
[He's disappointed to find that limit, the line where Emet-Selch refuses to let him press on— but there's no childish, insistent tug: Astarion prides himself on dignity, even in mischief, and if that is where he reaches the endpoint of their little game, so be it.
His thumb offers one last, lingering scuff along the edge of gilded cuffwork, deliberate and appreciative— and then he's let go entirely. Graciously, in fact.]
You're not a god, and you're not a demi-god— and you don't look like any vampire or cambion I've ever seen, nor necromancer for that matter.
So how on earth are you so long-lived? Because unless you're simply lying to me, I don't see how it's possible.