[ As color rises in her face, so too does Astarion's interest seem to pique, eyebrows rising as he gently takes her proffered hand in his. Words bubble up in his throat — that she's nothing like the undead creatures that had plagued them, that he knows her to be anything but a monster — but the sight of the necklace stems them all. Even before she speaks, he can guess at what it means, at least in part — a relationship of some significance, even if husband takes him off-guard. ]
Oh, my dove.
[ There's nothing but gladness in his features, flowing out through the timbre of his voice and the squeeze of his fingers around hers. It's no small thing, he thinks, not when he knows full well just how thorny the ideas of love and friendship have been for her — for both of them. ]
no subject
Oh, my dove.
[ There's nothing but gladness in his features, flowing out through the timbre of his voice and the squeeze of his fingers around hers. It's no small thing, he thinks, not when he knows full well just how thorny the ideas of love and friendship have been for her — for both of them. ]
Who's the lucky fellow?