Interlude: These Little Scraps Of Misery

Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 119k

Warning: Hey everyone 💖—I just wanted to give a quick heads-up before diving into These Little Scraps of Misery. This interlude gets pretty heavy, dealing with emotional distance, power struggles, and some tough moments between Sima and Astarion after Chapter 16. If you find yourself sensitive to themes like dominance, manipulation, or trauma in relationships, please take care of yourself first. Your well-being matters more than anything, so feel free to skip or pause if it gets too much. I’ve included this interlude to really show how the cracks are forming in their relationship. There’s love, but it’s complicated, and this is a pivotal moment for them both. Thank you all for sticking with this story—it means the world to me. Take care, and as always, I’m here for any questions or thoughts. 💕

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 17: Oct 23 2024

Song of the Hour: When the Party's Over - Billie Eilish

Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3

After the Cut!

Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery

Five days. It had been five days since Astarion’s hands had last touched her. Since his breath, hot against her neck, had sent both pleasure and pain rippling through her skin. Five days since she had felt that correction. The marks it left were far more than physical.

She hadn't let him near her since.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t press. But she felt his eyes on her, probing, wondering, waiting. Astarion was patient, and she wondered if he was counting the days, too.

Five days. Has it really been that long?

The question drifted through her mind, but she let it fall away, unimportant now. Everything felt unimportant now. The palace was quiet, save for the low murmurs of the spies and servants, moving like shadows beyond her closed doors. The same doors that separated her from him.

Sima found herself staring, hours passing without notice. She sat in her chambers, lists and papers spread before her, detailing plans for expansion, ideas for their future domain. Their domain —that’s what it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? She was supposed to be his partner, the one to stand by his side. To turn, to become what he was. What he wanted her to be.

Her fingers trembled as they grazed the parchment, a reminder that her body still reacted, even when her mind did not. She felt the echoes of that night in every step, in every breath. She had told herself she enjoyed it. Hadn’t she? I did. I wanted it... But the more she thought about it, the further away the truth seemed to drift, until it was swallowed up by the quiet void that had taken root inside her.

A part of her wished to forget, but the memories lingered. His hands on her body, his breath against her skin. His voice, sharp with dominance, with possession. It had thrilled her once— hadn't it? But now... it was like a shadow creeping over her, making her shudder in ways that had nothing to do with desire.

She had wanted him, right until she hadn’t.

That was the worst part. She had wanted it. Right up until the moment when his strength became too much, his grasp too tight, his words too cruel. Until the game shifted and she found herself no longer playing. She had become the piece to be moved, controlled, corrected.

And she had let him.

The memory came unbidden, slipping through the cracks in her resolve.

She had been in bed, beneath him. The sheets had felt too cold against her skin, but his body was hot, almost suffocating. His hands had moved over her, rough, demanding, and she had responded—out of habit, out of reflex. She had touched him like she always did, traced the familiar lines of his muscles, the planes of his body.

But inside, she had felt nothing.

She went through the motions, her fingers grazing his skin, her lips parting with practiced ease. She had played her part well enough, but somewhere in the middle of it all, she had drifted. She had become numb.

His hand had tightened around her thigh, and still, she hadn’t flinched. His breath was hot against her neck, his voice a low growl in her ear, but all she had heard was the distant echo of her own thoughts, spiraling deeper and deeper into the hollow space inside her.

And then, he had looked at her.

He had paused, his gaze searching, probing, trying to find something in her expression. His fingers had brushed her cheek, a gesture that might have been tender, but it felt foreign. Alien. Like it didn’t belong to her anymore.

Her eyes had remained open, staring at him, but she didn’t see him. She wasn’t really there.

He had noticed. She knew he had. The way his movements slowed, the slight tension in his body... he had known something was wrong. But he had said nothing.

When he finished, he had left the bed without a word, slipping from her chambers and leaving her alone in the cold sheets. He hadn’t come back.

That had been five days ago.

She had avoided him since, avoided his touch, his voice, his presence. He gave her space, but she knew it wouldn’t last forever. He was waiting, watching, always watching, as if waiting for her to slip, to fall, so he could pick up the pieces and mold them back into what he wanted.

The weight of it all pressed down on her, suffocating. She was slipping, falling into herself, the world around her becoming distant, muted, as if she were watching from far away. She went through the motions—plans, meetings, strategies for the upcoming ball—but none of it felt real. None of it mattered.

The nights were the worst. Alone in her chambers, the silence wrapped around her like a shroud, and she could feel the distance between them widening with every passing hour.

Five days.

Has it really only been five days?

She had tried to keep herself busy, to focus on the ball, on the intrigues Astarion had set before her. It was supposed to be her chance, her opportunity to prove her value, her skill. He had praised her for her persuasive tongue before, the way she could bend others to her will with nothing more than a few well-placed words. She was supposed to use that skill tonight.

But all she could think about was his hands. The memory of them on her throat. The bruises they had left, both visible and invisible.

Her mind drifted again, back to the moment when she had first realized how wrong it had all gone. She had told herself it was still part of the game, still part of their dangerous dance.

That this was what she had wanted, what she had craved. But the truth was colder, sharper. The line between pleasure and pain had blurred, and she had let it happen. She had let him cross that line, without a word, without protest. She had allowed him to take what he wanted, and now she was the one left with the scars.

You wanted this... didn't you?

The question echoed in her mind, but no answer came. She couldn't bring herself to confront the truth, couldn't face the weight of her own complicity. So, she pushed it down, buried it deep inside the hollow place where the rest of her emotions had retreated.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the vanity, her knuckles white as she held on, trying to anchor herself in the present. But the memories kept pulling her back, dragging her under.

Five days...

She could hear his voice now, distant but clear, discussing the ball, the upcoming intrigues, the schemes they were meant to execute together. He spoke of power, of control, of manipulation, and all she could think of was his hands. His breath on her skin. The way he had looked at her that night, with something that wasn’t love, wasn’t passion.

It was dominance. It was possession.

And now, as she sat in the silence of her chambers, she could still feel that dominance clinging to her, wrapping around her like chains. The more she thought about it, the tighter those chains became, until she could barely breathe.

She closed her eyes, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest, making it impossible to think, impossible to feel anything except the cold, creeping numbness that had taken hold of her heart.

But she couldn't afford to fall apart. Not yet. Not tonight.

Tonight was the ball. Tonight, she had to play her part. The Veiled Night Ball was her chance to prove her worth, her ability to navigate the treacherous waters of vampire politics. Astarion had said so himself, in those quiet moments over breakfast, when he had tried—and failed—to pull her back into their usual games of flirtation and innuendo.

She had deflected with precision, dodging his verbal traps with ease. He hadn’t pressed the issue, hadn’t questioned why she hadn’t slept in his chambers for the past five nights. Maybe he was giving her space. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for her to come to him.

But she wouldn't. Not yet. She couldn't.

The thought of his touch made her stomach twist, made her skin crawl. She had once craved his touch, the way it had made her feel alive, powerful. But now, it was a reminder of how quickly that power could be taken away, how easily the balance could shift.

She wasn’t ready to face him. She wasn’t ready to admit that something had broken between them. That something inside her had cracked, and she wasn’t sure if it could be mended.

Five days.

Sima's reflection stared back at her, but it wasn’t the woman she had once been. Her skin, rich and dark like the earth beneath a setting sun, had always carried strength, a beauty that defied the scars of her past. But now, her features seemed dulled, her spirit suffocated beneath layers of silence and pain. Her eyes, usually fierce and unwavering, were hollow, distant—a reflection of the woman she had become.

A hollow version of herself.

But she couldn’t allow that. Not anymore.

She took a deep breath, fingers brushing against the cool surface of the vanity as she straightened her spine. Her body responded instinctively, as if reclaiming the posture she had once mastered. The gown clung to her form, the corset cinching tighter, but this time it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt... grounding.

The woman in the mirror was still there, waiting to be called upon.

Her eyes flickered, the hollowness replaced by something else. A spark of defiance. A slow-burning ember of strength. She wouldn’t fall apart. Not tonight. Not ever. Astarion was watching, always watching, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Sima adjusted her gown, smoothing the fabric over her hips. Her hands steadied, no longer trembling as they had been just moments before. Her gaze sharpened, no longer lost in the haze of memories and pain. Instead, her mind settled on the present, on the ball, on the role she was meant to play.

You are stronger than this, she reminded herself.

And she was. She had survived worse. She had endured the horrors of Calimport, had clawed her way out of the shadows. She had rebuilt herself once, and she would do it again. Piece by piece, she would reclaim what had been taken from her.

Her back straightened, her shoulders pulled back as she lifted her chin. Her eyes, no longer distant, gleamed with a quiet fire, the kind that could burn through anything, even the silence that had threatened to swallow her whole.

She was ready now. Ready to face the world again, to wear the painted face of grace and strength that had carried her through so much before. Tonight, she would step into the ballroom with her head held high, her heart steady, her gaze unwavering.

Astarion might be waiting for her, but he wouldn’t see the woman who had crumbled beneath his touch. He would see the woman who had survived it, who had taken that pain and turned it into something stronger.

The mask was in place.

Sima rose to her feet, her movements fluid and deliberate, the embodiment of grace and control. She drew in the last of her makeup; a small black dot, behind the ear, drawn to ward away the evil eye. It was a reminder of her mother, her power, and her resilience in the face of whatever lay ahead.

She would play her part tonight, but it wouldn’t be for him. It would be for herself. To prove that no matter what had happened, no matter what corrections he had imposed, she was still her own.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced once more at her reflection. Not broken. Not lost.

And certainly not his to fix.

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @xxnashiraxx @verbenaa @kalmiaphlox @roguishcat @heylittleriotact

This won't be coming out for some time, but I've started working on a sequel to Branded Blood. Here's Ascended tiefling Astarion 💕

No pressure tags if you'd like to share @pinkberrytea @khywren @ladyduellist @justabiteofspite @preciouslittlebhaalbae @pickel182

Bella's Master List

Thank you for visiting my blog! To check out all my fanfic works please see the below! Also follow me on X: https://x.com/BellasMumbles NEW COMMUNITY PROJECT:

🩸 Calling all Astarion fans! 🩸Looking for a place to explore (or enjoy) the steamy side of our favorite vampire in both his ascended and unascended forms? The Astarion’s Thirst collection on AO3 is live! 😈 Whether it’s sensual, dark, explicit, or anywhere in between, this collection is for those who can’t get enough of Astarion’s thirst for blood, passion, and more. 💋 Full Details: HERE AO3 Collection Link

In the aftermath of their victory over the Nether Brain, Astarion, now newly Ascended, and Sima’s love is tested by dark obsessions and a quest for independence. As they navigate perilous power struggles and inner demons, their bond teeters on the edge. Will it endure the encroaching darkness, or be consumed by it? Chapters on Tumblr: Prologue, 1 , 2 , 3 , Interlude, 4 , 5 , 6, 7, 8 , 9 , 10 Interlude 2 , 11 , 12 13 14 15 16 Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist

Sima, a modern musician, is thrust into the magical world of Baldur’s Gate, captivating a certain vampire spawn: Astarion. Their passionate romance faces challenges of jealousy, societal prejudice, and personal traumas. Together, they navigate love, trust, and intimacy, standing as a team against the shadows of their pasts and the trials of a fantastical realm.

Tumblr posting Starts and Hiatus Will End: Aug 2024 Entire Story Link on AO3 (11 Chapters)

Songbird's Sanguine Sunset / Tumblr link inspired by Blood of the Songbird by @songbirdoftherogue Unfinished Work: Revenge and Blood on Silken Dunes

Tumblr Articles and Musings:

Musing 1: Snippets Snippet Prompt 1

Musting 2: WIP WIP 1

Musing 3: Characterization Discussions (Spoilers!) Characterization for Astarion's Paths , Characterization for Sima (Tav)

Musing 4: Random Ramblings Ramblings 1

Personal Projects:

I have launched a blog for my witchery and spilling the tea on the craft! Come check it out HERE

Thank you for Reading my work and if you are feeling kind, please leave a good word or comment or reblog on anything, its always appreciated!

Bella

graphics for lip dividers here: @firefly-graphics

Chapter 16: You Await My Command…

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 117k

Warning:

Hey everyone, just a quick note before this chapter. Chapter 16 explores intense themes of power dynamics, emotional manipulation, and dubious consent. Astarion and Sima’s relationship has always explored complex territory, but this chapter marks a darker shift, and it may be triggering for some readers. I understand this content can be difficult, and I want to encourage you to take care of yourselves as you read. This scene highlights the struggles and flaws in their dynamic, but I recognize it may not be for everyone. Thank you, as always, for your continued support of this story. If you need to step away or talk about anything after reading, don’t hesitate to reach out. Your well-being is always the priority. ❤️

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 17: Oct 11 2024

Song of the Hour:

Lovely: Billie Ellish and Khalid

Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3

After the Cut!

Chapter 16: You Await My Command…

Astarion sat back in one of the plush leather chairs in his study, his posture almost regal, one leg crossed over the other, a crystal wine glass filled with dark blood resting lazily in his hand. The deep crimson liquid shimmered in the soft candlelight, casting reflections on the polished wood of his desk. He took a slow sip, savoring the metallic tang on his tongue as his thoughts circled, ever returning to Sima. She was inescapable—her presence a constant undertow that tugged at the edges of his carefully laid plans.

A sigh escaped his lips, low and filled with a quiet, almost reluctant regret. 

She’s stalling, he thought, eyes narrowing slightly. How predictable.

Her insistence on “time to sort her affairs” was a transparent delay. Astarion had seen through it from the beginning—had relented, yes, but only because he’d known that, in the end, it wouldn’t matter. Time was an illusion; she was already his, whether she admitted it or not.

But she's still clinging to that mortal life of hers, he mused, his lips curling into a slight sneer. How quaint.

Time or no time, she was his, and he would never let her go. The idea of losing her was intolerable.

His thoughts wandered back to the night they shared—the intensity of their passion, the way she had writhed beneath him, surrendering to her deepest desires. He had tied her up, not just physically but emotionally, binding them both to a truth neither could deny. That night, they had confronted something raw, something primal. It was a moment where lust, control, and something far deeper had intertwined. She had finally agreed to be his, and that victory played over and over in his mind like a sweet, seductive refrain.

He rose, pacing toward the large window overlooking Baldur’s Gate, the city sprawled out beneath him like a living, breathing creature. Every flicker of light, every shadow, every whisper in the alleys—it was all his. He had built this domain, spun his web of influence, and bent nobles and spawn alike to his will.

But Sima…

She’s different.

That thought simmered beneath his carefully controlled exterior, an unwelcome irritation. She was intelligent, beautiful, and powerful, but more than that—she was dangerous. Not because she opposed him outright, but because she resisted him subtly, with her ideals and her stubborn sense of morality. 

He paced the length of his study, his fingers trailing over the leather-bound tomes that lined the walls. The room was a reflection of his mind—controlled, calculated, and filled with power. The star chart that dominated one wall was a map of his ambitions, each constellation representing a piece of his carefully constructed future. And in that future, Sima would be at his side. She would be his vampire bride, powerful and eternal. Together, they would rule not only Baldur's Gate but the world beyond.

The thought of her transformation filled him with a mix of elation and dread. She would be his equal, yes—but what kind of equal? Once she became a vampire, she would never be the same. Her human vulnerabilities, the softness he sometimes glimpsed in her, would be stripped away. What would remain? Would she resent him for it? Would she still desire him the way she did now? Or would her new power create a distance between them?

What an amusing little dilemma, he mused. She will resist, of course. But resist too much? He pushed the thought aside. Whatever came, it didn’t matter. She would be his, and together, they would be unstoppable. His lips curled into a self-satisfied grin. With Sima at his side, they would be the most feared and powerful couple in Faerûn. The nobles of Baldur's Gate would kneel at their feet, and soon, the world would fall under their rule. She would be the crown jewel of his reign.

But then, as if summoned by the very conflict within him, the door to his study creaked open, breaking the silence. A vampire spawn entered, bowing deeply, his head almost touching the floor. His entire body trembled as he knelt before his master.

“My lord… there is unrest in the dormitories.”

Astarion turned, his smile vanishing, replaced by cold, detached interest. “What kind of unrest?”

The spawn swallowed, eyes glued to the floor. “The spawn… they’re speaking of ideas. Ideas of freedom.”

Astarion’s grip on his glass tightened, and he could feel the cold fury blooming within him. Freedom? The word slithered through his mind, jagged and unsettling.

“And why, pray tell, would they be speaking of such things?” His voice was a soft hiss, sharp as the edge of a blade.

“Lady Sima…” the spawn stammered. “She has been speaking with them. She… she speaks of choice, my lord. Of things… changing when she becomes a vampire lord.”

For a moment, Astarion remained still, his gaze fixed on the trembling figure at his feet. Inside, his anger coiled tighter, cold and seething beneath the surface.

So, it’s come to this.

“She’s… speaking with the others?” His tone was flat, controlled. But inside, a storm raged.

“Yes, my lord. She speaks to them even now.”

His gaze darkened, fury bubbling to the surface as the reality of her actions hit him. Sima—his Sima—was undermining him, planting dangerous ideas of autonomy in his spawn.

“Show me.”

The spawn led Astarion through the palace corridors, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpets. As they neared the dormitories, Sima’s voice drifted through the air, soft yet confident, mingling with the occasional laughter of the spawn. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the urge to burst into the room growing with every step.

"...You must see it for yourselves," Sima was saying as Astarion approached, her voice warm, almost motherly. "Your Master has given you stability, yes, but there’s more that you can be. More than just tools for power."

Astarion’s jaw tightened. She’s at it again—filling their heads with ideas she barely understands herself. His steps quickened, the flickering candlelight catching the sharp glint in his eyes as he neared the threshold.

They reached the dormitory, and Astarion stood in the shadows, watching her with barely contained fury. Sima sat by the fire, her posture relaxed, as though she were the one in control. Several young spawn leaned in, listening eagerly as she spoke.

"When I become a vampire lord," she continued, "I want you to be strong and effective, yes... but also to have the choice. To think for yourselves."

Astarion’s grip on the doorframe tightened. Choice. The word made his blood boil. She spoke of it as though it were a gift, as though it weren’t a threat to everything he had built.

Silly, naive girl, he thought, his gaze narrowing. She has no idea what she’s inviting.

Sima’s voice carried on, oblivious to the storm brewing behind her. "You’ve all served faithfully, but it’s time you had a voice in the matters of your own existence. That’s what I hope to bring—"

Enough. Astarion’s patience snapped, his fury rising with each word that passed her lips. She had crossed the line. The spawn—his spawn—would not be infected with her idealistic nonsense. It was time to put an end to this charade.

"Sima, my love," Astarion called, his voice smooth as silk, though his eyes blazed with controlled anger. He stepped into the dim light, his posture regal but tense. "I didn’t realize you were already so... involved with the spawn."

As Astarion’s voice cut through the air, Sima’s head lifted, her heart skipping a beat at the sound of his smooth, deceptively calm tone. For a moment, relief washed over her—he always had that effect, even when she knew better.

But there was something off tonight. Something darker.

She looked up at him, greeted him warmly, but as she took in his posture, his eyes, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly by his sides, a flicker of doubt crept in.

He’s angry, she realized, her stomach tightening.

She could see it in the tension of his movements, the way his lips curled into a too-calm smile. 

Sima’s head lifted, her face lighting up when she saw him. "Beloved" She greeted him warmly but still somewhat subdued. "I was just getting acquainted with them. Considering I’ll be a vampire lord soon, I thought it wise to build rapport. You agree, don’t you?"

She thinks this is innocent, doesn’t she? How charmingly misguided. Astarion’s smile remained in place, but his eyes darkened, a predatory gleam surfacing beneath the calm exterior. He approached slowly, each step measured, deliberate. "Indeed," he replied, extending his hand. "But we should discuss these... ideas... in private. There’s much we need to talk about."

Sima hesitated, the warmth in her smile faltering as she sensed the growing shift in him, a crack in the calm facade. But she nodded, taking his hand, trusting that whatever was troubling him would be resolved in time. "Of course," she said, her voice still light, though a flicker of uncertainty danced in her eyes.

Good, Astarion thought. Uncertainty suits you better than defiance. His grip tightened slightly as he led her from the room, the tension between them thickening with every step.

As they ascended the stairs toward their private chambers, the tension between them grew palpable, an invisible thread pulling tighter with each step. Sima glanced back at the spawn, who watched silently as they left, their faces a mixture of awe and fear. She had wanted to make things better for them—to give them something more than the hollow existence they endured under Astarion’s rule. But now, as she walked beside him, she wondered if she had overstepped.

The moment the door to their chambers closed behind them, Astarion’s mask of calm shattered. With a violent shove, he thrust Sima into the room, his hand clamping down on her arm with bruising force.

"Do not presume to speak to me with anything but respect," he hissed, his voice low and threatening, his lips curling into a snarl. "There is an order to things, and you—you—are answerable to me. You will listen when I command you to listen."

Sima stumbled, barely catching herself before colliding with the wall. She looked at him in shock, her heart pounding in her chest. His sudden aggression took her breath away, but her shock quickly morphed into anger. She straightened, squaring her shoulders as she glared at him. "What in the hells is wrong with you?" she snapped, her voice sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Astarion’s eyes darkened, his fury rising like a storm. He stalked toward her, his movements predatory, his voice a dangerous whisper. "What’s wrong with me?" he growled, his breath hot against her face as he towered over her. "You undermine me in front of the spawn—my spawn. You fill their heads with notions of freedom, of choice. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you’re asking me to do?"

Sima’s breath quickened, but she refused to back down. She stood her ground, defiant, her chin raised as she met his gaze. "I did nothing wrong," she spat, her voice fierce, unwavering. "I spoke to them with compassion—something you seem to have forgotten. What? Are you angry because you can’t stand the idea of someone thinking for themselves? Is that what this is really about?"

Astarion’s lips twisted into a snarl, his eyes flashing with barely contained fury. His hand shot out, grabbing her by the waist with an iron grip and yanking her roughly against his chest. “You think this is a game?” he hissed, his voice dripping with venom, eyes narrowed as his other hand slid up her skirt, fingers digging into her thigh with punishing force. His touch was anything but tender—harsh, commanding, filled with anger that he was barely keeping at bay.

Sima gasped, the shock of his aggression slamming into her body. Her instincts screamed at her to fight back, but even as she tried to push him away, his grip was unyielding, his presence overwhelming. Her back collided with the cold, hard surface of the wall behind her, trapping her between the stone and his unforgiving hold.

"What do you think you’re doing?" she demanded, her voice trembling, not just with anger but with a faint, unspoken arousal that she loathed. She hated how her body responded to him—how, no matter how furious she was, there was always a part of her that craved the control he exerted over her.

Astarion’s lips curled into a cruel smirk, dark satisfaction glimmering in his eyes. “I’m teaching you a lesson,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, the dangerous edge to his voice making it clear this was no idle threat. “You need to understand your place, my love.”

Sima gritted her teeth, her nails biting into his arms as she struggled to break free of his hold, the fire of defiance burning in her chest. “I’m not one of your spawn,” she spat, her voice sharp and cutting despite the heat building inside her. “I don’t belong to you.”

Astarion’s smirk only widened, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Oh, but you do,” he growled, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her panties, his hand moving with deliberate, insistent pressure. He could feel her body react to his touch, the heat between them undeniable. “And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

He pressed her harder against the wall, his movements rough, calculated—designed to strip away her resistance, to punish her for daring to defy him. Sima gasped, her body trembling involuntarily under his touch. She hated the way he made her feel—the way her body betrayed her, craving the harshness of his control even as her mind rebelled. She hated that some part of her wanted this, wanted him, even now.

"You want this," Astarion whispered darkly, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke. His voice was low, dangerous, filled with the twisted pleasure he took from her conflict. "You want me to control you, to own you. Admit it."

Sima growled in defiance, her nails digging into his chest, desperate to push him away, to assert her own will. “Fuck you!” she spat, her voice thick with both rage and the undeniable heat simmering inside her. “You don’t get my submission today. Brat or not, I did nothing wrong.”

Astarion’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his smirk deepening as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her neck. “Oh, I’ve dealt with brats before, my love,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “And trust me, I always win.”

With a swift, sharp movement, he forced her legs apart with his knee, spreading her open to his touch. Her body quivered beneath him, every muscle tensing as he pushed against her. She wanted to fight him, to cling to her defiance, but her body had already started to betray her—responding to his dominance even as she willed it not to.

Sima glared at him, her voice a low, harsh whisper. “You can try all you want,” she said, her breath hot against his face. “But I am not yours to control.”

Astarion chuckled darkly, his fingers teasing the slick heat between her thighs, drawing a gasp from her lips despite her best efforts to stay silent. “Oh, but we both know that’s not true, darling,” he whispered, his voice taunting, full of cruel satisfaction. “I own you, whether you admit it or not.”

Sima’s breath hitched, her body betraying her, even as her mind screamed defiance. The pressure of his fingers, the rough precision of his touch—it was maddening, pushing her toward the edge despite every ounce of resolve she clung to. She bit down hard on her lip, desperate to stifle the moan rising in her throat, her fists clenched as she fought to maintain control.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her voice trembling, thick with a mixture of fury and unwanted arousal.

Astarion’s grin spread, slow and wicked, as he felt her body begin to yield, even if her mind resisted. His fingers never faltered, moving in an infuriating rhythm, coaxing responses from her that she couldn’t suppress. “Oh, come now, darling," he purred, his tone laced with dark amusement. "You know exactly what I’m doing. You’re just too proud to admit how much you want it.”

Her defiance only spurred him on. He pressed harder, his movements rougher, more deliberate—calculated to strip away the last of her resistance. Sima’s legs began to tremble, betraying her completely as waves of pleasure built inside her, tightening in her core like a coiled spring ready to snap. She wanted to push him away, to make him stop, but the way he touched her—the way he knew her body so intimately—made it impossible.

With a snarl of frustration, Sima glared at him, her eyes burning with fury. “You want me to give up? To tell you that you’ve won?” She leaned in, her teeth sinking into his lip hard enough to draw blood, her hands tangling in his curls as she yanked his head back, the metallic tang sharp on her tongue.

Astarion growled through the pain, but instead of recoiling, his grin only widened, blood staining his lips as he licked them clean. “Oh, my sweet Sima,” he whispered, his voice a low, wicked rasp. “You’re only making this more delightful for me.” His grip tightened on her hips as he thrust harder, a cruel gleam of satisfaction flickering in his crimson eyes. “But you and I both know how this ends. It always ends the same.”

His pace quickened, each movement precise and unrelenting, driving her closer to that edge she desperately fought to avoid. The dominance, the rawness of his touch, the power he held over her—it was overwhelming, intoxicating, and terrifying all at once. Sima hated how easily he could push her, how her body responded to him no matter how much she resisted.

Astarion leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, his voice dripping with amusement. “You can lie to yourself all you want, love," he murmured darkly, "but we both know you love this—being disciplined, being put in your place. Admit it.”

Sima’s body tensed, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the pleasure built inside her, growing unbearable. She wanted to deny him, to shove him away, but her body betrayed her with every shuddering breath, every involuntary reaction to his touch. “Fuck… you…” she growled, her voice breaking as she tried, and failed, to hold back the pleasure that surged through her.

Astarion chuckled, his grin widening in satisfaction. “Not quite yet, my dear,” he whispered, his tone laced with dark promise. He could feel her nearing the brink, but he wasn’t ready to let her fall just yet. Drawing out her torment was half the pleasure. He wanted her to break—utterly and completely.

“I could make this so much worse for you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck, his fingers slowing just enough to keep her on edge, the tension mounting in her body. “Or you could just let go... Give in. You know you want to.”

Sima’s breath was ragged, her heart pounding in her chest as the pressure inside her built to a fever pitch. The line between pleasure and pain blurred with every thrust of his fingers, every taunting word that slipped from his lips. She could feel herself teetering on the edge, her body betraying her mind as it craved release, despite her fierce determination to hold on.

Her eyes flashed with defiance, even as her body trembled beneath him. “You think you can break me, Astarion? You think you can make me submit?” Her voice was thick with venom, but beneath it was a tremor of something more—a desire she couldn’t fully deny.

Astarion’s eyes gleamed with dark amusement, his grin never faltering. “Break you?” He chuckled softly, his voice a seductive purr. “Oh, my love, I already have.” His hand moved with brutal precision, deeper, harder, forcing her hips to buck against him. “Your body tells me everything I need to know. You’ve been mine from the start.”

Sima gasped, her body betraying her completely as waves of unwanted pleasure surged through her, overwhelming every last shred of resistance she had. She could feel her core tightening, her muscles clenching uncontrollably as the pressure inside her built to an unbearable intensity. She hated him for it—for knowing her body so well, for controlling her so effortlessly—but it was already too late.

Astarion’s free hand pinned her wrists above her head as he pressed her harder against the wall, his breath ragged in her ear. “You’re so close, aren’t you?” he taunted, his voice low and dark, dripping with satisfaction. “Just give in, Sima. Let go.”

Her breath hitched, her body trembling as the pleasure built to a peak, so close it was agonizing. Every movement of his fingers, every thrust, sent her spiraling further into that unbearable tension, each wave of sensation tearing down her resistance. Her knees buckled beneath her, her mind screaming at her to hold on, to resist—but her body had already lost.

“Say it.” Astarion’s voice was a low growl now, almost a purr as his fingers moved relentlessly against her. “Tell me you belong to me. Admit it—you want this. You need it.”

Sima’s entire body quivered, the pleasure ravaging her, robbing her of control. Every nerve felt alight, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps as she fought against the overwhelming tide building inside her. She hated him for this—for how easily he could strip her of reason—but her body had already surrendered, trembling beneath the onslaught of his touch.

“Fuck… you,” she spat, the words slipping through clenched teeth, her voice trembling with rage and the weight of her impending climax. Defiant to the end, even as her body betrayed her.

Astarion chuckled darkly, his grin widening as his breath ghosted hot against her ear. “You already did last night, darling,” he murmured, his fingers plunging deeper, faster, with merciless precision. “I’ve already broken you—you just haven’t accepted it yet.”

His other hand pinned her harder against the wall, his movements calculated and punishing, drawing her closer to the edge. “Go on then,” he whispered, his tone a blend of cruelty and seduction. “Fight me all you want, but we both know you’ll fall apart in my hands. You always do.”

Sima’s body trembled violently, the pleasure coiling unbearably tight, every thrust of his fingers pulling her closer to that precipice she desperately tried to resist. But it was useless—her muscles clenched, her breath hitched, and despite every effort to hold on, she was already slipping.

“You’re mine,” Astarion hissed, his voice thick with satisfaction, his fingers rougher now, pushing her to the breaking point. “Now be a good girl and show me how much.”

With a final, brutal thrust, he sent her tumbling over the edge into oblivion.

Sima’s body convulsed violently as her climax hit her like a wave, slamming into her with enough force to take her breath away. Her legs trembled, her muscles clenching tightly as her core tightened painfully around his fingers. She gasped, her head thrown back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut as wave after wave of intense pleasure tore through her, each one more powerful than the last.

Her body writhed against him, her hips bucking uncontrollably as she rode out the overwhelming sensations. Her mind screamed at her to resist, but it was too late—her body had already surrendered completely to him.

Astarion watched her fall apart, his eyes dark with satisfaction as she shuddered under his touch. His fingers were slick with her arousal, her hips moving against him in the aftermath of her climax, as if seeking more even though she had nothing left to give. She was his now—whether she wanted to admit it or not.

Yet as he stared down at her, something inside him shifted, a cold hollow sensation replacing the rush of power. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at her trembling form, her chest heaving as she slumped against the wall. He should have felt triumphant, but instead, there was a strange emptiness gnawing at him. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, letting it fall to his side as he took a step back.

Something snapped inside him, a thread pulled too tight and finally breaking. This wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Astarion stared at her, the weight of what he had done settling on him like a shroud. The bruises forming on her hips, dark and unmistakable on her bronzed skin, stood as a testament to the force he had exerted, the control he had lost. This wasn’t supposed to be how it ended, not tonight. He had pushed too far. His fingers twitched at his side, a momentary urge to reach for her again. But the sight of those bruises—his bruises—froze him in place.

Gods, he thought, what am I doing?

"You’re hurt..." His voice, low and thick with something he rarely allowed himself to feel—guilt—sounded foreign even to his own ears.

Sima stiffened at his words. Her body trembled, still raw from the intensity of what had just passed between them, her mind reeling from both pleasure and fury. As she straightened, a sharp pain flared between her legs, causing her to wince again. She tugged her skirt down with wavering hands, the bruises on her hips throbbing as a cold, unfamiliar dread seeped into her chest.Yes, I’m hurt, she thought bitterly, though if it was a wound to her heart or more to her body, she could not tell. Her skin still burned with the remnants of their violent encounter, but it was the cold reality that truly stung.

"Yes," she spat, her voice sharp and trembling, though not with fear. "It would appear so, wouldn’t it?" Her eyes flashed with anger, her body tense, holding onto her defiance. The bruises on her hips throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the anger flaring inside her. She had always known their relationship danced on a precarious edge, but tonight, he had crossed a line.

Astarion opened his mouth to speak, but the words withered in his throat. The dynamic they shared had always thrilled him—the push, the pull, the intoxicating balance of power. But now, the control he so cherished felt like a tightening noose. He had gone too far.

As she bent to pull on the rest of her clothes, he couldn’t look away. He saw the tension in her every move—the hesitation, the pain she tried to hide. It wasn’t just physical; it was something deeper. Something broken between them.

He reached out, softer this time, his hand brushing against her arm as if to offer solace, to regain a thread of the connection they had so violently severed. "Sima..." His voice was softer, pleading. "You must understand... as your sire, it’s my duty to—"

"To what?" Sima jerked away from his touch as though his hand had burned her. Her eyes, fiery and defiant, locked onto his. "To keep me in line?" Her voice was sharp, filled with an unyielding coldness. "You are not my sire," she spat, each word a blade cutting through whatever thread of intimacy had been left between them. "Let me remind you of that."

The weight of her words fell between them like a stone, the finality of them echoing in the silence.

Astarion blinked, her rejection hitting him harder than any physical blow ever could. He had always envisioned himself as her inevitable sire—the one who would complete her, bind her to him for eternity. But now, she had thrown that back in his face, reminding him of his failure, of the incompleteness of their bond.

"I—" The words died in his throat. He had her, hadn’t he? She had always returned to him, bent to his will, even in defiance. But this time… this time felt different.

The chasm between them seemed to grow wider with each breath she took, an invisible distance that was impossible to close. She stood tall, despite the tremor in her body, her defiance burning brighter than ever. I am not one of your spawn, she thought, her earlier words echoing in her mind like a mantra. She refused to break before him, refused to be reduced to something he could control.

"You’ve done enough today, Astarion," she said, her voice steady despite the uneven rhythm of her breath. She refused to meet his gaze now, as if the sight of him was too much to bear. "Let me go."

His hand fell limply to his side, the space between them an unbreachable void. He didn’t move to stop her as she dressed in silence, each of her movements sharp, filled with a quiet, simmering rage that made his chest tighten. Let her go, his rational mind whispered. Fix this later.

But the other part of him—the part that demanded her submission, that craved her surrender—raged at the thought of her leaving, of her walking away from him.

Just before she reached the door, Sima paused, her voice trembling with barely contained fury as she turned back to him. "I don’t know what tonight was," she said, her chest rising and falling as though she could barely keep herself together. "But I can tell you one thing for certain. Nothing about what happened was acceptable."

Astarion stood frozen, her words cutting through him like a blade of ice. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he had no retort, no quick, biting remark to wield as a shield. Only the sharp, bitter taste of guilt lingered, hanging in the air as he watched her storm out and slam the door behind her.

The sound echoed through the silence that followed, leaving him alone with the weight of his actions.

How dare she reject me? The thought surged through him, bitter and defensive. After everything he had given her, after everything he had shared with her—how dare she walk away? His jaw clenched, fists tightening at his sides as the familiar tide of anger rose within him. But beneath it, something darker gnawed at him, something he didn’t want to face.

The bruises. Her bruises. His marks.

They haunted him, flashing through his mind as unwelcome reminders of the boundary he had crossed. The control he had so valued had slipped, leaving behind a mess of tangled emotions that he wasn’t ready to confront.

This was supposed to be a game, he reminded himself, pacing the room, the echo of his footsteps the only sound in the suffocating quiet. A lesson. We’ve always played this way... But tonight, tonight had been different, hadn’t it? He had felt it—the shift, the dangerous line that he had crossed without realizing it until it was too late.

You are not my sire. Her words echoed in his mind, over and over again. She had spoken them with such finality, as though to remind him of what he wasn’t. What he might never be.

His breath left him in a slow, measured exhale, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of realization. I’ve broken her trust, he thought, the truth of it settling deep into his bones. I’ve pushed her away. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he could bring her back.

But he would try. He had to.

There was still time—there had to be time—to fix this, to make her see that this had been a mistake, a momentary lapse. He couldn’t lose her, not when she was so close to being his—his equal, his bride, his partner in the eternity he had long envisioned.

Sima may have resisted him today, but in the end, she would be his. She had no other choice.

And neither did he.

We do love a happy king <3

Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 119k

Warning: Hey everyone 💖—I just wanted to give a quick heads-up before diving into These Little Scraps of Misery. This interlude gets pretty heavy, dealing with emotional distance, power struggles, and some tough moments between Sima and Astarion after Chapter 16. If you find yourself sensitive to themes like dominance, manipulation, or trauma in relationships, please take care of yourself first. Your well-being matters more than anything, so feel free to skip or pause if it gets too much. I’ve included this interlude to really show how the cracks are forming in their relationship. There’s love, but it’s complicated, and this is a pivotal moment for them both. Thank you all for sticking with this story—it means the world to me. Take care, and as always, I’m here for any questions or thoughts. 💕

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 17: Oct 23 2024

Song of the Hour: When the Party's Over - Billie Eilish

Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3

After the Cut!

Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery

Five days. It had been five days since Astarion’s hands had last touched her. Since his breath, hot against her neck, had sent both pleasure and pain rippling through her skin. Five days since she had felt that correction. The marks it left were far more than physical.

She hadn't let him near her since.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t press. But she felt his eyes on her, probing, wondering, waiting. Astarion was patient, and she wondered if he was counting the days, too.

Five days. Has it really been that long?

The question drifted through her mind, but she let it fall away, unimportant now. Everything felt unimportant now. The palace was quiet, save for the low murmurs of the spies and servants, moving like shadows beyond her closed doors. The same doors that separated her from him.

Sima found herself staring, hours passing without notice. She sat in her chambers, lists and papers spread before her, detailing plans for expansion, ideas for their future domain. Their domain —that’s what it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? She was supposed to be his partner, the one to stand by his side. To turn, to become what he was. What he wanted her to be.

Her fingers trembled as they grazed the parchment, a reminder that her body still reacted, even when her mind did not. She felt the echoes of that night in every step, in every breath. She had told herself she enjoyed it. Hadn’t she? I did. I wanted it... But the more she thought about it, the further away the truth seemed to drift, until it was swallowed up by the quiet void that had taken root inside her.

A part of her wished to forget, but the memories lingered. His hands on her body, his breath against her skin. His voice, sharp with dominance, with possession. It had thrilled her once— hadn't it? But now... it was like a shadow creeping over her, making her shudder in ways that had nothing to do with desire.

She had wanted him, right until she hadn’t.

That was the worst part. She had wanted it. Right up until the moment when his strength became too much, his grasp too tight, his words too cruel. Until the game shifted and she found herself no longer playing. She had become the piece to be moved, controlled, corrected.

And she had let him.

The memory came unbidden, slipping through the cracks in her resolve.

She had been in bed, beneath him. The sheets had felt too cold against her skin, but his body was hot, almost suffocating. His hands had moved over her, rough, demanding, and she had responded—out of habit, out of reflex. She had touched him like she always did, traced the familiar lines of his muscles, the planes of his body.

But inside, she had felt nothing.

She went through the motions, her fingers grazing his skin, her lips parting with practiced ease. She had played her part well enough, but somewhere in the middle of it all, she had drifted. She had become numb.

His hand had tightened around her thigh, and still, she hadn’t flinched. His breath was hot against her neck, his voice a low growl in her ear, but all she had heard was the distant echo of her own thoughts, spiraling deeper and deeper into the hollow space inside her.

And then, he had looked at her.

He had paused, his gaze searching, probing, trying to find something in her expression. His fingers had brushed her cheek, a gesture that might have been tender, but it felt foreign. Alien. Like it didn’t belong to her anymore.

Her eyes had remained open, staring at him, but she didn’t see him. She wasn’t really there.

He had noticed. She knew he had. The way his movements slowed, the slight tension in his body... he had known something was wrong. But he had said nothing.

When he finished, he had left the bed without a word, slipping from her chambers and leaving her alone in the cold sheets. He hadn’t come back.

That had been five days ago.

She had avoided him since, avoided his touch, his voice, his presence. He gave her space, but she knew it wouldn’t last forever. He was waiting, watching, always watching, as if waiting for her to slip, to fall, so he could pick up the pieces and mold them back into what he wanted.

The weight of it all pressed down on her, suffocating. She was slipping, falling into herself, the world around her becoming distant, muted, as if she were watching from far away. She went through the motions—plans, meetings, strategies for the upcoming ball—but none of it felt real. None of it mattered.

The nights were the worst. Alone in her chambers, the silence wrapped around her like a shroud, and she could feel the distance between them widening with every passing hour.

Five days.

Has it really only been five days?

She had tried to keep herself busy, to focus on the ball, on the intrigues Astarion had set before her. It was supposed to be her chance, her opportunity to prove her value, her skill. He had praised her for her persuasive tongue before, the way she could bend others to her will with nothing more than a few well-placed words. She was supposed to use that skill tonight.

But all she could think about was his hands. The memory of them on her throat. The bruises they had left, both visible and invisible.

Her mind drifted again, back to the moment when she had first realized how wrong it had all gone. She had told herself it was still part of the game, still part of their dangerous dance.

That this was what she had wanted, what she had craved. But the truth was colder, sharper. The line between pleasure and pain had blurred, and she had let it happen. She had let him cross that line, without a word, without protest. She had allowed him to take what he wanted, and now she was the one left with the scars.

You wanted this... didn't you?

The question echoed in her mind, but no answer came. She couldn't bring herself to confront the truth, couldn't face the weight of her own complicity. So, she pushed it down, buried it deep inside the hollow place where the rest of her emotions had retreated.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the vanity, her knuckles white as she held on, trying to anchor herself in the present. But the memories kept pulling her back, dragging her under.

Five days...

She could hear his voice now, distant but clear, discussing the ball, the upcoming intrigues, the schemes they were meant to execute together. He spoke of power, of control, of manipulation, and all she could think of was his hands. His breath on her skin. The way he had looked at her that night, with something that wasn’t love, wasn’t passion.

It was dominance. It was possession.

And now, as she sat in the silence of her chambers, she could still feel that dominance clinging to her, wrapping around her like chains. The more she thought about it, the tighter those chains became, until she could barely breathe.

She closed her eyes, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest, making it impossible to think, impossible to feel anything except the cold, creeping numbness that had taken hold of her heart.

But she couldn't afford to fall apart. Not yet. Not tonight.

Tonight was the ball. Tonight, she had to play her part. The Veiled Night Ball was her chance to prove her worth, her ability to navigate the treacherous waters of vampire politics. Astarion had said so himself, in those quiet moments over breakfast, when he had tried—and failed—to pull her back into their usual games of flirtation and innuendo.

She had deflected with precision, dodging his verbal traps with ease. He hadn’t pressed the issue, hadn’t questioned why she hadn’t slept in his chambers for the past five nights. Maybe he was giving her space. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for her to come to him.

But she wouldn't. Not yet. She couldn't.

The thought of his touch made her stomach twist, made her skin crawl. She had once craved his touch, the way it had made her feel alive, powerful. But now, it was a reminder of how quickly that power could be taken away, how easily the balance could shift.

She wasn’t ready to face him. She wasn’t ready to admit that something had broken between them. That something inside her had cracked, and she wasn’t sure if it could be mended.

Five days.

Sima's reflection stared back at her, but it wasn’t the woman she had once been. Her skin, rich and dark like the earth beneath a setting sun, had always carried strength, a beauty that defied the scars of her past. But now, her features seemed dulled, her spirit suffocated beneath layers of silence and pain. Her eyes, usually fierce and unwavering, were hollow, distant—a reflection of the woman she had become.

A hollow version of herself.

But she couldn’t allow that. Not anymore.

She took a deep breath, fingers brushing against the cool surface of the vanity as she straightened her spine. Her body responded instinctively, as if reclaiming the posture she had once mastered. The gown clung to her form, the corset cinching tighter, but this time it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt... grounding.

The woman in the mirror was still there, waiting to be called upon.

Her eyes flickered, the hollowness replaced by something else. A spark of defiance. A slow-burning ember of strength. She wouldn’t fall apart. Not tonight. Not ever. Astarion was watching, always watching, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Sima adjusted her gown, smoothing the fabric over her hips. Her hands steadied, no longer trembling as they had been just moments before. Her gaze sharpened, no longer lost in the haze of memories and pain. Instead, her mind settled on the present, on the ball, on the role she was meant to play.

You are stronger than this, she reminded herself.

And she was. She had survived worse. She had endured the horrors of Calimport, had clawed her way out of the shadows. She had rebuilt herself once, and she would do it again. Piece by piece, she would reclaim what had been taken from her.

Her back straightened, her shoulders pulled back as she lifted her chin. Her eyes, no longer distant, gleamed with a quiet fire, the kind that could burn through anything, even the silence that had threatened to swallow her whole.

She was ready now. Ready to face the world again, to wear the painted face of grace and strength that had carried her through so much before. Tonight, she would step into the ballroom with her head held high, her heart steady, her gaze unwavering.

Astarion might be waiting for her, but he wouldn’t see the woman who had crumbled beneath his touch. He would see the woman who had survived it, who had taken that pain and turned it into something stronger.

The mask was in place.

Sima rose to her feet, her movements fluid and deliberate, the embodiment of grace and control. She drew in the last of her makeup; a small black dot, behind the ear, drawn to ward away the evil eye. It was a reminder of her mother, her power, and her resilience in the face of whatever lay ahead.

She would play her part tonight, but it wouldn’t be for him. It would be for herself. To prove that no matter what had happened, no matter what corrections he had imposed, she was still her own.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced once more at her reflection. Not broken. Not lost.

And certainly not his to fix.