[ Before Astarion had even dreamed of allowing him in, Iorveth had seen him. Not in a flattering light, but he'd been seen nonetheless. Iorveth, blunt and honest to a fault, had sniffed out his untruths like a scent hound. It hadn't felt good for Iorveth to pin him so accurately with his observations—and in fact he'd been overcome with shame and irritation—but part of him had longed for it.

No matter how harsh his assessment, Astarion's true self had been invisible for centuries, and someone had finally thought to look at him. He can hardly be blamed for wanting Iorveth to keep looking, to see more.

With an annoyed look over his shoulder, he snaps, ] Jealousy is ugly, you know.

[ Envy is obviously the only reason the creature would describe their relationship in such a manner. She should be cooing over how perfect they are for each other, dammit. "Fragility can be beautiful," she says, which sounds a bit like a cop-out, but Astarion doesn't argue the point. "And every rose has its thorn."

Astarion glances back at Iorveth, canting his head to concede the point. ]

Perhaps, at times, we can be a little bit thorny. [ He shakes his head. ] But life would be so boring without a few pricks to the fingers.

[ Sagely, the dryad adds, "Handle each other with care, lest you get hurt." Astarion really does roll his eyes this time, although the warning rings a little truer than he'd like. "Now— close your eyes..." ]