[ Iorveth could have said that when Astarion was up to his knuckles inside him, but he's feeling generous, so now is good, too. He peers into the mirror from behind Iorveth, entirely invisible in the reflection. ]

Yes, [ he says, narcissistically, ] but even the most talented artist does better with a lovely canvas.

[ He tucks a strand of hair behind Iorveth's ear. In the mirror, the hair seems to move by itself. ]

And you are lovely.

[ Perhaps the refreshed hairdo will make him more likely to believe Astarion's compliments. He'd certainly like if that were the case; someone so wonderful should never have to feel undesirable.

Speaking of undesirable, Astarion fingers a curl at the front of his own head, frowning. ]

Now you'll need to rid me of this charred thing. I'm not going to a soiree looking like this.