[ "Clever little fox," Granny Heart sings as Astarion slinks his way through the narrow passageway. He comes out the other side with the pinprick feeling of cold sweat on his neck, somehow so much more nervous for the fact that it's Iorveth who'll pay if he messes this up. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing away the mental image of Granny Heart fulfilling his every dream of Iorveth's immortality — as a statue, perhaps, one that can only look on in agony while the world moves on without him. Not Astarion. He'd never move on.
"You mustn't believe any of those nasty rumors, oh, no." Her voice is saccharine, too saccharine. She's kind only in the way a butcher is kind when fattening up a pig before the slaughter. "My bargains are very fair."
Astarion rolls his eyes, but not for long. No time to dally when the glass wardrobe stands directly before him. He crouches, digging through his pockets for his lockpicking tools.
"Now," she says, grin just a little too wide to be right. "Tell me, what can Granny do for you?"
The space is tight, and as Astarion raises his hands to pick the lock, his elbow bumps against a jar of mysterious purple liquid, making a very faint clinking sound. He doesn't move. He doesn't breathe. ]
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"You mustn't believe any of those nasty rumors, oh, no." Her voice is saccharine, too saccharine. She's kind only in the way a butcher is kind when fattening up a pig before the slaughter. "My bargains are very fair."
Astarion rolls his eyes, but not for long. No time to dally when the glass wardrobe stands directly before him. He crouches, digging through his pockets for his lockpicking tools.
"Now," she says, grin just a little too wide to be right. "Tell me, what can Granny do for you?"
The space is tight, and as Astarion raises his hands to pick the lock, his elbow bumps against a jar of mysterious purple liquid, making a very faint clinking sound. He doesn't move. He doesn't breathe. ]