[ That word again: love. Astarion would like if everyone would refrain from abusing it until he can ruminate and brood. These foreign feelings need to be examined.
Love, as a concept, doesn't come easily to him. He must once have had family who loved him; only a muddy memory of them remains now, blurry, half-formed recollections of people who’d cared for him. Occasionally Cazador had claimed to love his spawn, but Astarion knew better than to believe it. He'd loved them the way a wealthy man loves his possessions. He may admire expensive vases for display, but do their thoughts or emotions matter?
Arms folded over his chest, Astarion squawks, ] That's hardly impressive. A blind grimlock could see your burning desire for me.
[ Placid and unflappable, the dryad smiles, not a hint of offense on her pretty face. "Allow me, then, to gaze into your hearts and tell you if this flame will blaze everlasting or burn out." ]
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Love, as a concept, doesn't come easily to him. He must once have had family who loved him; only a muddy memory of them remains now, blurry, half-formed recollections of people who’d cared for him. Occasionally Cazador had claimed to love his spawn, but Astarion knew better than to believe it. He'd loved them the way a wealthy man loves his possessions. He may admire expensive vases for display, but do their thoughts or emotions matter?
Arms folded over his chest, Astarion squawks, ] That's hardly impressive. A blind grimlock could see your burning desire for me.
[ Placid and unflappable, the dryad smiles, not a hint of offense on her pretty face. "Allow me, then, to gaze into your hearts and tell you if this flame will blaze everlasting or burn out." ]