#circle of death au ⚰️

[writeshite]

Astarion doesn't bother to remember many things before his ascension; never bothered to keep in touch with anyone from before then either. He walks the long halls of his home and sits atop a throne, revered and worshipped akin to a god, with the memories of the tiefling who stole his undead heart so long ago. The same tiefling he'd driven away when the ascension had begun to twist his mind.

"Not that I don't love you, darling, but why do you insist on giving me flowers?" Astarion remembers asking, face flustered as you tilted your head at his question.

"Just because," you'd shrugged, taking another flower and placing it in Astarion's hair. The journey to Baldur's Gate was long, and the whole group had decided to take the roundabout path for some extra time to relax, well as much time you could all set aside to relax.

The last handful of flowers you'd given Astarion were still displayed on his bedside dresser, as fresh and vibrant as the day you'd picked them for him all those decades ago. "They won't wither as long as I live, a symbol of my love for you." Astarion had scoffed at your words and called you cheesy, all the while hiding his blushing face behind his hands. He hasn't seen your smile in decades? He can't remember, he doesn't know if he wants to.