Astarion x M!Reader

Eight

If there was one thing you openly loathed about Cazador, it was his palace and what he kept hidden beneath it. You found everything in the place he called home tasteless or horribly invasive.

Everything was shiny, fine and as expensive as it looked. Splendour was a word that Cazador found horribly average.

With your lips pressed together, you strutted around between the shadows of the rooms and observed the strange hustle and bustle.

It was irritating how many spawns he had acquired over the years. There were a dozen of them in the entrance hall alone. Only the gods knew what their purpose was, but they were there and they lolled about as if Cazador might come by at any moment to choose between them.

Your former friend hadn't been picky either. There were men, women, dwarves, halflings and humans. You even caught sight of a tiefling. A disconcerting sight. Horns like a goat and teeth like a vampire.

You knew the devil existed and he didn't look like this one. But you still found the sight very fitting, to call it devilish.

"Interesting.", you mumbled to yourself and stepped from one shadow to the next.

The room changed and the walls became bare. No more tapestries adorned the rooms and there wasn't so much gold to stare at.

Instead, there were beds. Dozens of them.

They were poorly built and just big enough to accommodate a grown man. The sleep would probably be disgustingly bad, but it would fulfil its purpose.

You raised your nose. And had to pull a face.

It stank. The air in the room was thick and stuffy. As if one were in a library, except there wasn't the cosy undertone of paper and ink. Instead, it smelled of sweat and despair.

You took a step to the side as two men entered the room. You thought you could hear sobbing.

The two approached a bed.

Your eyes narrowed. With one step, you jumped up through the shadows to the ceiling beams to get a better view of what was happening.

There were heads everywhere. Bodies huddled close together and it didn't look like there was anywhere to wash the sweat of sleep from one's brow.

Your eyes skipped over Cazador's possessions. Not a single one of his spawns caught your eye and a surge of anger came over you.

There was no one in this palace who could make up for the loss of Brennan. He had been a stroke of luck for your cause.

Again you tried to catch a whiff of magic in the air. But there was nothing.

Cazador chose his spawns with the same disappointed mediocrity that he himself radiated.

"How unsurprising.", you muttered, your eyebrows furrowed and deep wrinkles on your forehead.

You were about to get up and leave when your gaze suddenly fell on a scrawny figure. Huddled together, knees drawn up almost to the chest and arms around their shoulders, they lay there.

Bare feet caught your eye. The soles were almost black with dirt.

"By all the hells...", it escaped you.

Nausea scratched the roof of your mouth.

Your gaze travelled higher. White hair curled around a scrawny neck. Something pointed protruded from the waves.

Ears.

"An elf...", you whispered to yourself.

You couldn't put your finger on it, but you had surmised that Cazador was too vain to transform someone of his own species. As if he wanted to remain unique in his realm.

Your lips twitched, but you couldn't decide what you wanted to feel and let yourself fall back instead. Shadows reached out their dark fingers to you and carried themselves wherever you asked.

The air became noticeably lighter. The stench disappeared and instead there was the smell of dried flowers. And something else.

Blood. Yes, you were sure, there was this iron in the air that tightened around your throat.

All of a sudden it felt so dry when you swallowed. But the taste of horror was still on your tongue. It had only been a few days since you had turned him. This was not life-sustaining thirst but desire.

The monster inside you stirred. Darkness crept briefly into your mind. But as quickly as it had come, you banished it to the back of your brain.

Shadows faded.

A hall appeared. A throne room. Annoyed, you rolled your eyes.

"Of course.", you breathed as the portrait of Cazador caught your eye. "Tell me, Caz, have you ever been in love with anyone other than yourself?"

You took a step forward. Surprised by your sudden appearance, the master of the house jerked his head up. A thin trickle of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

In his lap he held a woman, or rather a girl. You were not sure. She was really young, but you've had trouble guessing the age of mortals for centuries.

Eyes rolled back in her head, she hung half on the floor while the remaining blood coloured her neck red. For her sake, you hoped she was already dead so she wouldn't have to see it all.

You couldn't deny your murderous nature but you could still show mercy. If you had to eat, you killed before the first bite.

A smirk twitched at Cazador's lips as he noticed the way you looked at the woman, or what was left of her.

"Do you want a bite?", he asked, pushing the body down the steps.

She hit the red carpet with a thud. Her blood mingled with the fibres. You wondered if anyone would miss her.

Would a mother have cried for her disappearance?

Or was she a mother?

Your attention turned back to Cazador. Blood drenched your bare feet. You ignored the feeling even though it sent shivers down your spine.

Animals only killed as much as they could eat. They wasted little and lived as long as possible on one prey. Cazador didn't do that. He killed for all reasons other than necessity.

And you hated it. You hated him with every fibre of your immortal body.