[ She continues to go on about pain, about suffering and numbness, as if she knows the first fucking thing about any of it. If she is trying to illuminate Astarion, it is not working. Hounded by fear and desperation, his vision has narrowed until all he can hear is mockery. Threats.
But perhaps he doesn't miss her meaning entire. He understands that if she is threatening him with further pain—pain that will multiply and echo again and again until he is swallowed whole—she is also offering a way out. This, at least, he expected. That's what Cazador had promised, isn't it? A path towards forgiveness.
The woman will not be rushed through her lecture, that much is clear. So Astarion withdraws his hand and settles back onto his knees, expression tight with mingled impatience and anxiety. Now that he's hearing what he expects to hear—or thinks he is, at any rate—the fire has gone out of his voice once more. ]
no subject
But perhaps he doesn't miss her meaning entire. He understands that if she is threatening him with further pain—pain that will multiply and echo again and again until he is swallowed whole—she is also offering a way out. This, at least, he expected. That's what Cazador had promised, isn't it? A path towards forgiveness.
The woman will not be rushed through her lecture, that much is clear. So Astarion withdraws his hand and settles back onto his knees, expression tight with mingled impatience and anxiety. Now that he's hearing what he expects to hear—or thinks he is, at any rate—the fire has gone out of his voice once more. ]
I'm listening.