the first bite- the first kiss

Caelia's breath hitched as Astarion stepped closer, his movements silent and predatory. His redden eyes, usually alight with amusement, now burned with an intensity that sent a jolt through her. He tilted his head, his gaze lingering on the pulse point at her neck, the exposed skin sending a shiver down her spine.

"Intriguing," he murmured, his voice a husky caress. "Darkness and despair, you say? Perhaps. But I sense something else too, Caelia. A fire, barely contained, a flicker that makes your blood sing a siren song to my senses."

His hand, cool and pale, brushed against hers, sending another jolt of electricity through her. She wanted to pull away, to scream, but a strange fascination held her rooted to the spot.

"Let me see," he whispered, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to her ear. "Let me taste the truth in your blood, the darkness that mirrors my own."

Caelia's heart hammered against her ribs, a war raging within her. The danger was undeniable, the allure impossible to ignore. In that charged moment, suspended between fear and a strange, intoxicating desire, she knew the line between enemy and something more was about to be irrevocably blurred.

Caelia's body trembled, caught between repulsion and a strange, unfamiliar pull. Astarion's touch on her hand lingered, sending sparks dancing along her skin. His words, laced with a seductive challenge, echoed in her mind.

"I wouldn't dream of tasting darkness," she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper. "You've already consumed your fair share."

His crimson eyes narrowed, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. "Ah, but denial is a delicious game, isn't it, Caelia?" he countered, his voice low and tempting.

Suddenly, he leaned in closer, the gap between their lips shrinking to a mere breath. Caelia could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin, smell the intoxicating scent of blood and forbidden desire.

"Tell me," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper, "who are you truly running from? The darkness within, or the darkness I represent?"

His question hung in the air, a challenge and an invitation all at once. Caelia felt a strange sense of vulnerability, a part of her wanting to confess, to unravel the knot of grief and desperation that weighed her down. But another part, fueled by distrust and fear, held her back.

In that charged moment, a decision flickered in her mind. She could continue the dance, using his desires to her advantage, or she could make a stand, risking his wrath but safeguarding her own secrets. The fate of their encounter, and the delicate dance between enemies and something more, hung in the balance, waiting for her next move.

A wry smile played on Astarion's lips as Caelia's response danced between defiance and something deeper. He wasn't expecting vulnerability, not yet. He relished the game, the push and pull of their dance.

"Running from both, perhaps?" he mused, his voice smooth like honeyed venom. "But fear not, little one. I am not here to judge, only to offer a taste of the truth you so desperately seek."

His hand moved, not towards her again, but towards the dagger clutched tightly in her grasp. With surprising gentleness, he pried it from her fingers, his touch sending a jolt through her that had little to do with fear.

"Let go of the weapon, Caelia," he murmured, his voice a seductive murmur. "Embrace the darkness, even if it comes cloaked in fangs and shadows."

He held the dagger aloft, its point reflecting the moonlight like a cruel reminder of her threat. Then, with a flourish, he tossed it aside, the clatter echoing eerily in the well.

"Now," he continued, his eyes burning with an intensity that both terrified and intrigued her, "tell me about the darkness. Let us explore its depths together."

Caelia felt the walls of her resolve crumble, the weight of grief and the thirst for vengeance threatening to overwhelm her. A part of her yearned to resist, to hold onto the fragile remnants of her self-control. But another part, a part she barely recognized, craved the strange solace he offered, the promise of answers even if they came at a terrible price.

"I..." she began, her voice barely a whisper. The sound tumbled from her lips, carrying the weight of her loss.

"Tell me everything," he purred, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "Let me taste your story, your pain."

His words sent shivers down her spine, a potent mix of fear and an exhilaration she couldn't explain. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing in the eerie silence of the well.

As she began to speak, her voice shaky but determined, Astarion moved with lightning speed. He grasped her chin, tilting her head back, and before she could even register the movement, his fangs sank into the exposed skin of her neck.

A gasp escaped her lips, a mixture of shock and a primal, unexpected desire. Pain, sharp and fleeting, flared at the point of contact. But then, a wave of warmth washed over her, carrying with it an intoxicating sensation – a kaleidoscope of flavors and memories flooding her senses.

She sensed grief, raw and acrid, the echo of every moment she have ever lived. She sensed fear, a metallic tang heavy on her tongue. But beneath it all, she sensed something else – a hidden strength that refused to be extinguished.

Astarion, his eyes closed, seemed to be lost in a trance, his body trembling ever so slightly. He was experiencing Caelia's memories, her emotions by the taste of her blood, in a way she never thought possible.

For a moment, they were suspended in this strange, intimate dance – a bite that transcended mere physical sensation, forging a fragile connection between them. Then, as abruptly as it began, it ended. Astarion pulled away, his face pale, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and something else, something deeper and unreadable.

Caelia's fingers instinctively touched the bite mark, a tiny red welt forming on her skin. The world seemed to come back into focus, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away, leaving behind a strange sense of vulnerability and a spark of a connection she couldn't quite define.

"Caelia," Astarion whispered, his voice hoarse. "Tell me more about you."

Caelia's voice trembled as she spoke, weaving a tapestry of betrayal, despair, and the gnawing emptiness that had consumed her since the darkness claimed her loved one. Astarion listened intently, his red eyes locked on hers, the hunger in their depths transforming into a mesmerizing intensity.

As the last syllable of her story faded, a tense silence filled the air. Caelia felt exposed, raw, a part of her laid bare in a way she never thought possible. Astarion, his face unreadable, remained motionless, the only sound his ragged breathing in the damp stillness.

Then, with a swiftness that startled her, he moved. His hand cupped her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. He leaned in close, his voice a husky whisper against her ear.

"Your darkness… it sings a familiar song," he murmured. "A song of loss, of longing, of a hunger for something more."

His words sent shivers down her spine, a potent mix of fear and an unexpected thrill. Before she could react, he closed the distance between them, his lips meeting hers in a searing kiss.

The kiss was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was a whirlwind of emotions – passion, desperation, a strange sense of belonging. It felt like a violation, yet her body seemed to betray her, responding with an undeniable yearning.

As their lips met, a jolt of energy surged through her, a spark igniting within her very core. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and utterly intoxicating. It was as if, in that moment, their deepest desires, their hidden vulnerabilities, intertwined in a way neither could explain. She could taste her own blood from the stained lips of him. It was bitter but somwhoe sweet or the lips of him made it sweeter?

When they finally pulled away, gasping for breath, their eyes locked. Astarion's gaze held a depth she couldn't fathom, and for a fleeting moment, she saw a flicker of something akin to pain reflected within their golden depths.

"Tell me," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion, "what is it you truly desire, Caelia?

i am 28 years old, the last time i used tumblr when i was 14, a decade ago. its relieving to see we are still thirsting over morally-grey guys with white hair.

Dance MACABRE 2.3

For Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , 2.2 , ao3 link

Astarion raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Now that's an interesting claim," he mused, his predatory gaze never leaving her face. "Tell me, little tiefling, what horrors have you witnessed that could possibly rival the darkness I already embrace?"

Caelia raised her chin, showing a hint of defiance in her dark eyes. "I had to end the life of my closest friend. What kind of evil could surpass that?" Her voice sounded pained, as if the memory were still an open wound. Astarion tilted his head, a slow smile appeared on his face. "Ah,  a timeless tragedy. It brings such exquisite despair." His tone oozed with a twisted pleasure that stabbed at Caelia's emotions. She pulled back, feeling a mix of disgust and anger.

"You..." she sputtered,  "you find enjoyment in that? Would you find equal amusement in your own twisted end?"

He shrugged elegantly, "Possibly. After all, even the sweetest wine goes sour eventually. But in your case, my dear...,"  he stepped closer, the predatory glint in his eyes mirroring a hunter cornering its prey,  "...there is more to this story, isn't there? Your friend didn't simply...expire.”

Caelia felt a familiar chill. "How...-"

"Oh, desperation has a distinct scent.  As does the aftermath of a broken pact. Tell me," his voice lowered to a seductive purr, "what monstrous form did she assume when the bargain turned against her?"

"But first, how about a truce? This tension between us  isn't exactly conducive to lively conversation, wouldn't you agree?" He gestured she should go on giving some more details, with a gaze he might know something about, twinkling lights in his eyes  promising reprieve from the oppressive silence. She, desperate for a dim amount of information, decided to share the story, what worse could have been? Reluctantly, Caelia recounted the tale – Elara's obsession, the bargain struck in darkness, the demonic possession that followed. With each word, she watched Astarion's fascination grow, like a flame fed by despair.

Caelia's fists clenched. "She sought out this... thing... this infernal leeching power for what she thought was noble cause. It warped her. Twisted her until..." her throat tightened, then spat the words, "... until I was forced to kill her with my own hands." The memory of Elara's lifeless eyes flashed before her.

He nodded, a flicker of calculation flashing across his face. "It seems your darkness goes deeper than a single act of desperation. And this...darkness..."  His  gaze swept over her thoughtfully, studying the dark locks as if deciphering a forgotten scroll, sending a shiver through her body – whether from repulsion or something else, she wasn't sure. "This darkness leaves a unique… bittersweet aroma on the scent of hopeless people, I can smell it on you” he paused, sniffing the air. “Some specialize in deciphering and even reversing such entanglements."

Hope pierced through Caelia's anger. Though she wanted to wipe the smirk off his face, a desperate part of her clung to his words.  "Who? Who could possibly decipher...,"  she swallowed the rest, unsure how much to reveal about the sigil of Cazador etched upon his  skin.

"A necromancer... not your typical graveyard spellcaster, mind you, but one who delves into the intricacies of soul magic." Astarion's lips curled into a cruel smirk, "They might even shed light on this little masterpiece scarring  my flesh.” gesturing the sigils on his back, he gave a mocking bow, “but I know you like them, since the moment we met you couldn't take your eyes on back”"

Rage flared anew within Caelia, yet beneath it, a desperate curiosity battled for dominance.  Their goals intersected only as two lines crossing and diverging. With gritted teeth, she managed to spit out the words, "How… do we find this necromancer?"

Astarion chuckled.  "Why, together, of course. Your... talents," his gaze danced down her body, laced with an undercurrent that made her flesh crawl, "could prove useful in such dangerous endeavors."  He stretched, his movements predatory. "Don't worry, darling, consider it a mutually beneficial arrangement –  you seek answers, and I…”  his eyes glittered, “I, as always, seek satisfaction."

A chill wind snaked through the graveyard, the rustling of dry leaves echoing the disquiet in Caelia's heart.  This creature standing before her was the epitome of the darkness she loathed, and yet, a morbid desperation fueled her every breath.

She forced her expression into a brittle mask of defiance, "Fine. Let's find this necromancer of yours. But know this, vampire -  the moment our paths no longer align, I won't hesitate to drive a stake through your monstrous heart."

Astarion threw back his head and laughed, a harsh sound that shattered the night's stillness. "Spoken like a true friend," he mused. "Don't fear, little tiefling. I relish a challenge." His fangs glimmered in the moonlight, a silent reminder of the danger she'd invited into her life.

With a final, appraising glance, Astarion turned, his footsteps vanishing into the sprawling cemetery. "Shall we meet upon the morrow, or are you more inclined towards clandestine affairs beneath the cover of moonless nights?" There was no mistaking the sly innuendo layered beneath his words.

Caelia stifled a retort. This, she realized, was merely a taste of their inevitable clash of wills. Her only answer was a curt nod before she too walked away, the weight of her decision settling like a shroud upon her shoulders.

Beneath the veil of night, beneath the whispers of headstones, beneath the flicker of her resolve, an uncomfortable truth took root. In this world of shadows and despair, her enemy, for the moment,  was also her only hope.  And that knowledge burned more fiercely than the fires of any inferno.  A final question bubbled to the surface.  "How..." she began, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer. "How will I know how to find you?" It felt strange, asking instructions from her avowed enemy.

Astarion's smirk only deepened as if amused by her inner turmoil. He tilted his head, his voice silky and laced with an undercurrent of threat. "I have my ways, little tiefling.  Don't worry,  I'll find you whenever you are. You cannot hide from me now."

Before Caelia could answer, he gave her a quick wink.  But there was something chillingly off about it – a subtle wrongness to the angle, a too-wide curve of his lips. For a split second, as a sliver of moonlight pierced the trees, his shadow contorted unnaturally across Elara's grave. The image made her skin crawl. His shadow then flickered back to a more familiar form, and Astarion's figure, seemingly untouched, dissolved into the darkness.  The echo of his unsettling laughter continued to haunt the night, leaving Caelia shaken and unsure of what was real and what was trickery.

A shudder passed through her.  She didn't answer, didn't offer any sign of vulnerability. But inside, a shiver of dread tangled with a strange curiosity. It was a perilous game she was playing, a deadly dance with a predator of the night. Yet in the heart of the darkness, where desperation clawed at her soul, there was a twisted thrill to knowing he might always be near.

With this decision, she felt some ease, a stark contrast to the adrenaline-fueled night she had been through. The memories brought her back to a recent time. The duel. The scenes from this night’s fight flickered behind her eyes. The clash of steel, the flash of his red eyes, a pull towards him deeper than anything she'd known. She had never in front of a vampire before, yet drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The shock, was raw and searing, followed by an awe that still sent shivers down her spine.  And then, the runes. Symbols etched into his skin, each a chilling revelation of his power, pain, and potential for destruction. Cazador. Cazador Szarr. The sole survivor of that Szarr family massacre, no one knew how he survived.  However, her arcane studies, supported by the monstrous compendiums (her favorite topic when she was younger), had helped unveil some of the truth in her head. She remembered the teachings of her heritage especially from her shaman grandmother aiding her in deciphering the infernal language with her inner fluency in infernal culture as a tiefling... The teachings showed that Cazador wasn't just a survivor. He was Cazador Szarr "The Avid," as inscribed on a scroll titled "Vampires before Vellioth." A scroll that revealed the unthinkable: his transformation from a mere vampire spawn to a full-fledged Vampire Lord in 1276. That meant Cazador had walked the streets of Baldur's Gate, a monster in disguise, for 216 years. Caelia knew the power a Vampire Lord could wield over its spawn. She had also accessed Lady Incognita's cryptic writings once. Each detail from Lady Incognita's books and especially her diary painted a terrifying picture of Cazador's sadistic nature. Lady Incognita's notes, meticulously labeled 1477, were a testament to her own suffering. At thirteen, she had been invited into Uncle Cazador's palace, a glittering cage that promised ballroom waltzes but delivered a fate far more macabre. Forcefully transformed into a vampire, but she refused to submit to the "family rites," whatever those twisted rituals entailed. As punishment, she was exiled to the dusty attic, a living tomb. As torture, she was given human blood just once a year, then she was left with no food. She endured agonizing hunger, surviving on a single drop of blood from rats in the attic, driven to claw the walls in her desperation for the whole year. Finally, a live hostage was presented, a potential meal, yet even then, she defied her hunger, she defied being a vampire with the strongest will humanity had ever seen. She rejected her birth name due to it reminding her uncle, shedding it like a discarded skin, and became Lady Incognita, the woman hidden in the attic, a prisoner of her own will. Caelia thought, a man who could inflict such suffering on his own blood, what horrors had he unleashed upon those unfortunate souls who fell prey to his hunger? What agonies awaited them in the labyrinthine crypts beneath her feet? 

Resolve hardened with the night. With a determined nod, Caelia stood, the lantern casting long shadows as she turned towards the looming mausoleum of Cazador Szarr. The hunt for truth had begun. She remembered him, the spawn she had fought this night. The clash of steel, the glint of his red eyes, the pull deeper than any she'd known – all resonated with a sickening clarity. He was a vampire, that much was undeniable. Yet, amidst the terror, a chilling fascination lingered, a morbid curiosity towards this creature of the night. The memory of her best friend, combined with the void behind Spawn's crimson eyes, lost to a darkness she couldn't reach.  Him… A twisted echo of her own grief, a desperate desire to save where she once failed. Could she redeem the darkness before it consumed him, as it had consumed her best friend? The question hung heavy in the air, as heavy as the weight of the stone beneath her fingertips. The path forward was shrouded in shadows, but one thing was certain: her encounter with the spawn had irrevocably altered her. The fight, the fear, the awe, the runes, the hiss behind the monstrous eyes – they were all pieces in a puzzle she couldn't ignore. The question remained: would she dare to solve it?

The tombstone, a silent sentinel, loomed before her, offering a meager shield. With smooth movements, she huddled close, tucking her knees to her chest, seeking any sliver of warmth. Finally, curled into a tight ball, she drifted off, the weight of the stone a comforting presence against the vast emptiness of the night.

The echoes of the memories of Elara, the clash with that vampire spawn, the desperate mistake of healing him, her frantic flight from the tavern– all slowly faded into the background. Here, amidst the silent sentinels of stone, a strange peace settled over her. Finally, sleep claimed her, washing away the weight of the night. The wind whispered through the leaves, a mournful lullaby erasing the tavern's din. In this moment, nestled beside the cold embrace of the unknown, she forgot. For the first time since the sun dipped below the horizon, she could simply breathe. The cold granite had absorbed her silent pleas and shivers as she drifted into a restless sleep in the open night. A lone crow cawed from the skeletal branches of an ancient oak, its harsh cry echoing through the cemetery's silence. She slept through the dawn. 

Dawn's first blush kissed the horizon, painting the sky with the promise of a new day. Yet, for Caelia, the ache within mirrored the fading darkness. As she rose, her obsidian skin seemed even colder against the warming air, a stark contrast to the fiery light. The weight of the headstone, its secrets whispering promises and burdens, pressed upon her soul. But beneath the grief, a new resolve flickered in her eyes, glinting like polished steel. The tears of the night had been shed, replaced by a steely determination. Loss wouldn't break her; it would become a reminder, a burning ember fueling her steps on the path ahead. Vengeance for her friend would be her redemption. Below, the Gatekeeper's Villa loomed like a watchful shadow, its dark spires stark against the vibrant dawn. The air, heavy with the scent of salt and decay, carried on the wind from the nearby harbor. The restless sea churned against the jagged cliffs, its roar a constant echo of the finality she now embraced.

She cast a final glance at the dawn, its beauty a stark contrast to the turmoil within. The night's battle against the vampire spawn, the cathartic release by her friend's grave - it had all been a prelude to this moment. She was ready. 

Turning to leave, her gaze snagged on a nearby stone, previously unnoticed. Its inscription, weathered and cryptic, beckoned her closer. Curiosity, a spark in her newly forged resolve, drew her in. The inscription read: "Astarion Ancunin 229 DR – 268 DR." A frown creased her brow as she did the mental calculation. That lifespan was impossibly short, far too brief for the depth and weariness she'd found in his gaze.  "Is… is this him?"  The weariness in her eyes battled with a flare of fascination.

2.2

Caelia's grip tightened on the dagger as Astarion sauntered closer, his movements almost predatory in the dim moonlight. She backed away, the damp stone of the well pressing against her spine. His eyes, golden and unsettling, seemed to bore into her very soul, and a chill ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the night air.

"Exquisite," he murmured, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down her spine, despite her best efforts. He stopped just out of reach, his head tilting as if he were savoring a scent. "Your blood, it must be exquisite. Exotic, like the rumors say about tieflings. I confess, I haven't had the pleasure before."

The blatant hunger in his words made Caelia's stomach churn. He wasn't just flirting, he was assessing her, sizing her up like a predator eyeing its prey. But Astarion wasn't a beast driven by instinct alone, he was something far more dangerous – intelligent, calculating, and driven by an unknown desire.

"Don't even think about it," she spat, her voice taut with fear and anger. "One step closer and I'll make you regret ever finding me."

Astarion chuckled, a dry, humorless sound that echoed eerily in the well. "Feisty, I like that," he drawled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "But threats are empty echoes in the dark, wouldn't you agree? Especially against someone with… shall we say, a different perspective on life and death?"

He twirled a lock of her dark hair around his finger, his smile widening. "Besides, wouldn't a little taste be worth the risk? Imagine, the power, the knowledge I could glean from just a sip of your unique essence."

His words were laced with seduction, but the underlying threat was clear. Caelia knew he was testing her boundaries, gauging her strength and resolve. But beneath the fear, a spark of defiance flickered. He wouldn't break her, wouldn't turn her into another victim.

"My blood holds only darkness and despair," she lied, her voice steady despite the tremor in her heart. "It wouldn't quench your thirst, only remind you of your own monstrosity."

Astarion raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Now that's an interesting claim," he mused, his predatory gaze never leaving her face. "Tell me, little tiefling, what horrors have you witnessed that could possibly rival the darkness I already embrace?"

Dance Macabre: Chapter 2

For Chapter 1 For: ao3 link

The rays of moonlight over the crumbling ramparts of Baldur's Gate, cast long and darker-from-night shadows across this graveyard. Mist clung stubbornly to the crumbling headstones, each a silent testament to lives lived and stories forever hushed. Caelia sat hunched on a windswept hillock in the cemetery. Fatigue lines etched her face, and the scabbed wound on her chin was smoothly pulsing while she was reflecting the long, arduous night she'd endured. She went there after she had left the tavern in haste. Her steps had led to a single headstone she knew so well. This wasn't just any headstone; it held the memory of someone she'd loved deeply, a void etched into her soul. It was the final resting place of her only best friend , Elara, and with it, lay buried a lifetime of shared laughter. She stopped to gaze at the grave, it was neat and proper, however, some moss sprouted from the earth and the lilies she had left past season were still there but dried in crumbs. Its inscription was worn smooth by Caelia’s countless touches. She caressed the cold stone one more, not with mere fingertips, but with the weight of a thousand unspoken goodbyes, a thousand unfulfilled dreams. Each touch whispered a cheerful memory: she and her running through the spruce forest near their childhood town, scaring the ruminating goats of the woodsman, collecting dwarf frogs and feeding them tiny flies, swimming drunk naked under moonlight, all the silly mistakes they made while learning sword fighting together… Each touch resonated with the pain in her heart, a symphony of "what-ifs" and "what-could-have-beens" echoing in the empty spaces where their future once bloomed. Even though it's contradictory, here, beside the grave of someone she'd loved with ferocity, she found a strange solace. 

“Caelia! Stop!” Elara’s voice burst from her memories, striking a thousand needles in her heart. It was one of the last things she had said to her. 

Caelia knelt, brushing leaves and dust from Elara's headstone. Fresh lilies replaced wilted ones, their white stark against the night. Unfolding a thin cloth from her bag, she laid it beside the tombstone. 

"Cealia, fight it!" Elara screamed, her voice hoarse with desperation. "Please, it's you in there!" Caelia fought, but it was a battle against herself. The entity, coiled within her like a viper… "Caelia, please!" Elara cried, her voice choked with tears. "Fight it! It's me, Elara! Don't let it take you!"

A tidal wave of painful memories slammed into Caelia, despite her desperate attempts to hold them back.

"No!" Caelia resisted, summoning every ounce of her will to push back against the alien force surging through her body, due to the curse of the broken pact. It felt like grappling with a monstrous tide, its icy tendrils wrapping around her thoughts. She swam as much as she could, but the tide was enormous and dark. The entity, a serpent of darkness entwined within her soul, reveled in the chaos, its laughter echoing in Caelia’s mind. With a bewitched surge of demonic power, Caelia sent Elara crashing back. Elara hovered and hit the ground, that unnatural, brittle sound of the faint, eerie crunch of... bones. Caelia’s stomach lurched. Elara’s arm, twisted at an impossible angle, was held rigid by the shattered bone protruding through the torn flesh… The sight of her friend's pain, the flicker of fear in her eyes, momentarily pierced the entity's control of her. A sliver of Caelia, fragile and terrified, clawed its way to the surface of her own possessed mind.

"Elara... run," she rasped, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. Caelia’s eyes snapped open, no longer the warm brown that reflected Elara's trust, but cold, calculating orbs that glowed with an unnatural light. 

But Elara, ever loyal, wouldn't abandon her. With tears streaming down her face, “never” she said. “Its my fault, I failed both of us.” With a cry that ripped through the silence, she lunged. But her blade wasn't aimed at Caelia, no. It was a desperate, almost suicidal charge against the entity itself. The movement was reckless, fueled by grief and a love that refused to be broken. The clash was a blinding flash of light, the air crackling with raw power. Then, silence.

A sharp gasp escaped Caelia's lips as vivid recollections jolted her. Caelia laid beside the tombstone of Elara, on the thin cloth she unfolded. The lantern flickered to life, casting a warm circle. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, inhaling damp earth and blooming flowers. Tonight, she wouldn't just mourn. She would plan. For Elara, for herself, she would seek answers. Even if they lay buried deep, even if they meant confronting her own choices.

She looked at her own hands, covered with blood, holding a sword cutting through Elara’s thin body,  her teary eyes desperately begging her to stop. Caelia didn’t stop. Couldnt… Stop. The blade had entered between Elara's shoulder and neck, twisting and tearing its way through her body in a sickening arc. Jagged edges of flesh peeked from the gaping wound, and Caelia could almost hear the wet gurgle of escaped breath that must have marked Elara's last moments. The entity, now master of her vessel, smiled, a chilling mockery of Caelia's own features. "The debt is settled," its voice an evil copy of Caelia's own.

Caelia slammed shut the mental picture of Elara's lifeless eyes, the echo of the infernal command still ringing in her ears. She refused to remember how she screamed. A primal scream had ripped from Caelia's throat, raw and anguished after she snapped back at herself that night. Tears, hot and blinding, streamed down her face, tracing trails through the blood that wasn't hers. Each sob was a hammer blow to her soul, shattering the last vestiges of denial. Elara's reckless pact, foolishly sealed with an unknown infernal entity, had spiraled out of control and failed, possessing and forcing Caelia's hand. It punished not just Elara, but herself. Blinded by pride and desperation, she had become the very monster she and her sought to defeat. Now, Elara was gone, swallowed by the darkness she desperately tried to shield her from.

“it's not my fault…” “it's not my fault…”“it's not my fault…

Caelia's whispered mantra, "It's not my fault," hung heavy in the air, echoing off the damp stones of the abandoned graves. The darkness pressed in, mirroring the despair that threatened to consume her. Suddenly, a sardonic chuckle shattered the silence.

"So it was entirely your fault, isn't it darling'?"

Caelia whipped around, her dagger flashing in the moonlight that filtered through the well's opening. There he leaned against the mausoleum wall, his amusement clear even in the dim moonlight, his form barely visible in the shadows. Moonlight glinted off his golden eyes, and a mocking grin stretched across his handsome, yet unsettling, face. 

"How..." Caelia stammered, her voice hoarse with shock , fear and the shyness. "How did you find me?"

"Let's just say," he drawled, holding the bloodied cloth she had left in the tavern, "vampires have a way of finding their way to those who have a vested interest in them." His gaze slid down to her dagger, then back up, meeting her eyes with a glint of challenge. "Planning on adding another stain to your conscience?"

Caelia's grip tightened around the hilt. His casual demeanor fueled her anger. " I saved you and now you are blaming me even though you have no idea what I've been through and yet-"

"Oh, I have a few guesses," he countered, his voice dropping to a seductive purr. "Grief, guilt, a touch of self-loathing... empaty -ugh.. disgusting. a potent cocktail"

He held up a hand, stopping her before she could retort. "But before we delve into your emotional baggage, wouldn't it be polite to introduce ourselves properly? I'm sure you wouldn't want to spend this delightful evening with a nameless shadow."

Caelia glared, but a sliver of curiosity flickered within her. Her silence was the answer. 

He offered a theatrical bow, moonlight catching the glint in his eyes. "Call me... Astarion. A moniker with a touch of mystery, a hint of danger, and a dash of charm, wouldn't you agree?"

"Astarion, huh?" she repeated, testing the name on her tongue. It held a curious power, a weight of history she couldn't quite grasp. "I am Caelia." Her lips twitched, despite herself. "Clever," she conceded grudgingly. "But charm doesn't change the fact that you're still... what you are."

"And what is that?" Astarion raised an eyebrow, his smile sharpening. "A monster? A creature?” He smiled like he's making sure to show his sharp and long canines.  “Perhaps, but even monsters have their uses. Especially when it comes to navigating the shadows you seem so determined to explore."

His words hung in the air, laced with both taunt and temptation. Caelia knew she shouldn't trust him, yet a part of her, consumed by grief and desperate for answers, found herself strangely drawn to his enigmatic presence.

"What do you want, Astarion?" she finally asked, her voice low and wary.

"Answers, darling," he replied, his voice a whisper. "And perhaps, in the darkness you seek, a chance at redemption, both for you and someone you hold dear."

Caelia hesitated, her instincts screaming treachery. Yet, the gnawing need for information battled with the desire to plunge her dagger into his chest. It was a stalemate she both loathed and relished. 

"But first, how about a truce? This cemetery isn't exactly conducive to lively conversation, wouldn't you agree?" He gestured towards the town nestled beyond the iron gates, its twinkling lights promising reprieve from the oppressive silence.

Dance Macabre: v1

Lore: Enemies-to-lovers Female Tiefling + Astarion

ao3 link

The cobbled teeth of the alley bit into Caelia's thin soles, each step echoing in the cavernous silence. Her breath, a ragged ghost escaping her lips, mingled with the chill that clung to the damp brick walls. Every rustle of unseen fabric, every distant howl carried on the wind, sent prickles of fear dancing across her skin. The city, once a haven, now felt like the maw of a predator, its shadows whispering tales of a monstrous hunter stalking the night. Yes, she had heard the rumors. The whispers had shadowed Caelia like wraiths ever since she stumbled into Baldur's Gate. Among the migrants along the way, there were tales of cloaked figures, silent reapers gliding through the moonlit maze, leaving laughter replaced by chilling absences. At first, she'd scoffed, dismissing them as tavern whispers and flickering lamplight playing tricks on weary minds. But now, threading through the city's narrow veins at night, a prickling unease crawled beneath her skin. She understood why there was such a rumor. The once-thrumming pulse of the city had muted to an unnerving hush, the darkness pressing in like a suffocating shroud. The whispers, once dismissed, now echoed with a bone-chilling truth, their spectral voices whispering from the damp brick walls, warnings etched in the shadows. Caelia clutched the worn leather satchel containing her meager belongings, its weight a grounding anchor in the swirling vortex of her unease. The tavern, a beacon of flickering light visible through the labyrinthine alleyways, was her only relief. Reaching the tavern, that lone beacon in the oppressive darkness…

As she was walking, suddenly a shiver ran through the air, a prickling sensation like cobwebs catching on her exposed skin. It wasn't the wind, nor the distant hum of the city. It was a presence. A presence with an air of sharp frequency, a palpable aura of crimson that sent a wave of dread chilling over Caelia. A shiver danced down Caelia's spine, and her fingers subconsciously found their way to the worn leather grip of the dagger strapped to her thigh. Its familiar feel offered a flicker of solace against the creeping fear that tightened its grip around her. The tavern, so close and yet so agonizingly far, seemed to mock her with its promise of safety. The trembling in the air intensified, turning into a palpable pressure pressing against her chest. Her steps faltered, eyes straining to pierce the veil of darkness ahead. The whispers of suspicion that crept through the alley coalesced into a single, ominous certainty: she wasn't alone. Caelia's heart pounded against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the chilling silence. Her hand instinctively gripped the hilt of her dagger, knuckles white against the worn leather. The shadows writhed, obscuring any glimpse of her pursuer, but the tingling along her skin was signaling unseen eyes fixed upon her. Then, with a sudden, almost imperceptible second, the air itself twisted. Time seemed to stutter, then warp, collapsing into a single heartbeat. Caelia froze, a choked gasp caught in her throat: A figure had just materialized out of the darkness above her face, smoke tendrils merging into a vaguely humanoid shape, reddest eyes blazing with feral intensity, the glint of a knife held high and tight, aimed for a killing blow. Time stopped.

Instinct- honed by fear, snaps Caelia into action. Her left hand, imbued with arcane energy, wove the quickest defensive spell: an aard shield. A shimmering barrier materialized around her, deflecting the attacker's vicious blow with a deafening clang. The shield pulsed with residual energy, the air was still crackling from the clash. The creature fell sprawled, the knife clattering uselessly at his side. The feral rage had drained from his red eyes, replaced by a flicker of surprise, then dawning recognition. "Magic shield?" he rasped, his voice a rough scrape against the silence.

Cautiously, Caelia stayed silent and approached, her hand was still holding the dagger. As she approached, the silver light of the moon reflected from an open window above, revealing his silhouette. The light bathed the figure in an ethereal glow, revealing a lean, almost skeletal frame shrouded in tattered clothing. His skin was almost translucent, giving him a ghostly pallor that contrasted sharply with the bright white, curly locks of hair cascading down his head. His nose was well-defined, giving him an air of confidence and poisé. His elongated, rectangular chin jutted out prominently, creating a perfect alignment with his sharp canines, and was accentuated by the delicate point of his elven ears. His very pale complexion instituted a stark harmony with the bright white curls of his hair, which framed his face in alluring ease. Struck by this first look, Caelia's attention shifted to his body. The red flowing from him stained his pale skin, oozing from fresh cut wounds that whispered of a recent fight that could not be caused by her magic shield. The shield can't cut this precisely. She thought to herself that this encounter could not be his first today, he looked like he fought a million wars before. Caelia's shield pulsed once more, pulling her attention back to reality, the air crackling with residual magic one last time as it vanished. The figure, though disarmed, remained a coiled spring of desperation. Seeing she approached him, he noticed the opportunity. He lunged, claws aimed for her eyes, but Caelia ducked with practiced ease, her foot whipping out to sweep his legs. He stumbled, crashing against the damp brick wall with a guttural curse.

"ah, so agile for a street rat…" he groaned, a glinting smile with annoyance on his busted lips as he finally gave her a proper look. "Ohh…" he said with revelation and revulsion. "A tiefling..."

He scrambled up, eyes burning with feral fury. "Should've called you a street goat, shouldn't I? Horns and all." This time, he feinted left, then lashed out with a right hook that grazed Caelia's cheek, sending a sting of pain through her jaw. She flinched back. As an elder daughter, she did not hold back against his wordplay. As she avenged his cut with a swift jab to his ribs with her horns, drawing another pained gasp from him, she replied in wit, "See? Horns give a definite head-start over losers."

He lunged at her in a moment of seconds. His swiftness ripped fresh lines through the tattered fabric of his old, dirty, gray shirt. The pale skin across his back was unveiled. There, stark against the bloody, wounded canvas, lay a mark. Not ink nor brand, but raised lines of old scars, woven into an unsettling sigil. Runes, alien and ancient, encircled a central symbol, pulsing with a faint, unholy luminescence as his ragged breaths strained them open. Caelia's parry faltered against his lunge, a tremor snaking through her grip. Recognition flickered at the edge of her mind, a half-glimpsed memory from the books she read and whispered warnings in forgotten libraries. Cults, ancient pacts, infernal bargains... The fragments fused, chilling her blood despite the furnace heat of the fight. They continued to exchange attacks while they were both analyzing each other with sinister. With each brutal exchange, her gaze darted back, tracing the lines of the mark, etching them into her memory. The clang of steel became a staccato rhythm against the backdrop of doubt, her every feint a desperate search for confirmation. Then, as their blades clashed once more, the sigil's unholy light flared, momentarily illuminating the intricate runes. A name, written in the language of Infernal which she can read very well as a tiefling, slapped into her mind: Cazador. This mark, etched on this unwitting pawn's flesh, bore the symbol of an infernal pact, a tethered leash to an entity of unimaginable evil. Caelia's breath hitched, and understanding this sank like a leaden weight in her stomach. This wasn't just a duel; it was a brush with a power beyond mortal comprehension, a glimpse into an abyss that threatened to consume them all. The fight raged on, fueled by a newfound, icy purpose for her: to unravel the enigma on his back, a puzzle carved in flesh and steeped in forbidden knowledge.

"Cazador's spawn," she finally grasped, the words tasting heavy on her tongue. "That's what you are."

He froze. The word was like a whiplash cracking across his raw nerves.

Caelia felt a growing unease. This is why his attacks, though vicious, lacked the power she expected from the so-called "monstrous legend". His movements were sluggish, his blows less than coordinated. His desperation, however, was undeniable, etched in the tremor of his hands and the ragged rasp of his breaths. The revelation hung heavy in the air, momentarily suspending the dance of blades. He wasn't a monster. Yeah, as a vampire maybe he was, but. He was not a monster monster. She read about the backstory of vampire spawns and the legend of Cazador. She knew about infernal history and infernal traditions as it was her culture. She knew he was nothing but a human stripped bare, made a monster by its master. His ferocity, she realized, stemmed not from bloodlust, but from desperate clinging to survival. Caelia lowered her dagger, her gaze locked on the sigil, then back to the creature's haunted eyes. He was no longer the predator, but a broken reflection in her eyes. At that moment, under the cold gaze of the moon, the roles seemed to shift: the hunter became the hunted. She was going to start to cling to his prey. While she was standing there with a downed dagger, his heavy breaths filled the silence, punctuated by the occasional cough wracking his thin frame, he was hardly standing.

"My my, why are you staring like that?" coughed from exhaustion. "you liked what you saw, hmm?" The crimson eyes that had burned with feral fury now flickered with something else - knowing that she now knew who he was- it was a sinister acceptance.

"You're..." she started, her voice hesitant. "You're not what I expected." Her voice was softer now, laced with a cautious curiosity. "you are weak."

"Ugh, you hurt me...To be honest, your words are sharper than your dagger, tiefling"

His voice hung in the air, a fragile bridge stretched across the chasm of fear and suspicion. He was catching his breath while trying to ignore the hellish pain of his new injuries added to his previous injuries, but he was still trying to hold on to his blade with all the remaining energy without any will to draw back. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. He stared at her, she stared at him: his red gaze flickering between the moonlight glinting off her horns, and her dark gaze skipping in between the sparkles of the same moonlight on his marble skin.

"Pity" as she sighed. A word long absent from her vocabulary, resonated in the street, a foreign echo in the symphony of his suffering. His lips cracked and dry, twisted into a snarl. "Pity? From a hybrid of the devil like you?" His voice, hoarse from exertion, rebelled not her but the circumstances of his life, with a bitter venom. He was trying to get up but failing and slipping aimlessly. Caelia met his gaze unflinchingly, "I see a creature in pain, A creature, perhaps, not so different from myself."

His sharp and high laugh echoed in the alley as he was trying to arise, "Dont insult me by comparing yourself to me"

The words struck a very specific raw nerve in her, and a spark ignited in the embers of her past as a tiefling. He wanted to lash out, to deny her pity, but the fire in her eyes held him back. A hundred years under Cazador's thumb had taught him only to obey, to crave pain, yes... yes he was weakened. But should he be pitied? No, no way. This unexpected pity of this ridiculous horny thing gnawed at his anger, twisting it into bitter, despairing resentment. He was a creature of shadows, forged in cruelty, and saw only scorn, blood, and ridicule, enduring everything they have done to him. Yet, here she stood, offering something he had already cannot tolerate very well - pity. This was the last straw for him. Being pitied by a little demon. Exhaustion was already coiled around him like a serpent, squeezing the last dregs of defiance from his bones. Hundred years of hunger gnawed at his insides, a hollow echo of the hundred battles he'd fought today just to be alive, the blood he'd spilled just to escape the clutches of Cazador. His body, a tapestry of aches and throbbing wounds, felt like a leaden weight against the cold stone wall. He'd fought for hours, danced macabrely on the precipice of Cazador's oblivion palace, only to stumble here. This was the last fight of the night for his freedom. He mistakingly thinking the haste walking sound of a tiefling for another spawn following him and this is why he made the first attack. Even if he made a mistake, he could easily take out a normal person even though he was injured and tired enormously. Now as a last surprise test of this freedom quest, this annoying goat was actually good at fighting! And even, she could beat him, try to pity him, how dare she! The anger against her filled him with a last spark of his diminished vitality. A blessing from darkness. A blessing from vengeance. One last dance. He was the chosen of all these dark feelings. He could feel every torture he ever lived through was burning inside him when he heard the word "pity" from her red-as-hell lips. He was slowly rising, trying to hold onto the wall with his shaken hands as he gained his last drop of energy drawn from vengeance.

When Caelia saw him trying to get up, she shouted, "Get up already!" and threw a sharp blue pulse with her magic, which he quickly dodged. He had that damn smirk replaying on his lips. The soundwaves of a high-pitched giggle slapped on Caelia's face, and he finally stood up: "The ever-elegant shadow dance! ahaha... A dance macabre! The last curtain. Though I must confess, my dear, your steps lack a certain... finesse. Perhaps I should offer private lessons?"

"Your charm might work on moonstruck moths, vamp, but I'm immune to your theatrics," she said. She rocketed a crackling energy of pulse to him again. Tilting his head, amusement dancing in his crimson eyes, hastily dismissed the energy. The concentrated thunder blast crushed the wall behind him, some bricks were demolished. Both of them seemed like a child playing with their meal, or a hunter playing with its prey.

"Darling... Are you sure my charms didn't work on you? You are prolonging this fight instead of finishing me off easily. If you consider my condition-" pointed his wounds, "you can do it but you don't... "

The stand-alone finished when she burst another blast. It hit right beside his head, burning a lock of his curls. This was her answer.

"Oh, how utterly melodramatic. Did you switch to magic again? Can't a gentleman simply appreciate a captivating performance of steel?" His sudden energy surge started to really annoy her. "My patience, like this shiny dagger, is wearing thin. So, unless you have a death wish to accompany your charming wit, just go away or let me be"

"Why, you can just kill me?"

"I am just protecting myself since you attacked me first, why would I kill you if you just leave me be!"

"Oh, I apologize for that. I mistook you for a spawn after me but I liked where this went, I do not want this to stop... This is a dance for survival, a waltz in the jaws of oblivion. And as for who I play for... well, let's just say, I have my shadows to appease... My first entertainment as a free man after I escaped Caza-" She, being done with nonsense, blasted one more energy again but this time it was narrow, like a needle, it was precise, like a stitch. He couldn't dodge this time. It hit him. It hit him badly. After flying about five meters, he adhered to the ground.

The sting of defeat, sharp and bitter, was eclipsed by a crushing wave of weariness. His last energy drip was gone with this final part of the play, and he miscalculated she wouldn't attack while he was speaking. No… No. He wasn't defeated, not entirely. It was simply the exhausted retreat of a soul pushed to its limit. Even the echo of her dagger and magic hand, a distant whisper now, seemed more like a lullaby than a threat. This wasn't surrender, not entirely. It was the weary retreat of a rogue who'd stared into the abyss one too many times. His eyes, glazed with fatigue, drifted to the slivers of dawn creeping through the grime. Perhaps this was it, the final curtain call in a play of relentless pursuit.

As he lay on the ground, "You cannot Kill me," he laughed with agony, voice raw with sarcasm and a twisted longing for the play. "Try to finish it. You cannot. and You wouldn't be the first to try it"

Caelia's gaze softened, a stark contrast to her horns and the shadows playing across her face. "Hm, yes... I can do it easily," she said in mischief, her voice gentle yet childish, "yes I think we should kill wounded animals to end their suffering", pointing at his wounds. "but I don't kill. So just leave me alone" lowering her attack pose and putting her hands down.

He was still in denial. "Let me have a break and we will continue this dance darling, no no. I am not finished" his voice choked, "I just need a moment, catch my breath… because you know... I am... in a fight-or-flight... extra... vaganza for hours now." "I see that. Was it Cazador you were escaping from?" "Y... yes" "How? Isn't it impossible?" she says with the dagger pointed at him and her left hand pulsing with magic. "As you can see, I just made it. Nothing is impossible for me." "You break free from the infernal pact? how?" This doesn't feel right..." her eyes focused him: "This situation" His breath was evaporating on the cobblestones. "You cannot imagine what I can do. Especially when I am furious" he smirked hardly with a flash in his eyes like a fox.

"Aaaw. I think this little wounded bat is furious he got beaten by a "goat." He tried to laugh it off but the century of torment etched into his every muscle. Caelia was trying to grasp his sarcastic contrast to his miserable physical state, but he continued to tease her. "Ahh, don't worry about the wounds,..." with the short and precise inhales caused by his wounds, " I like the pain they give me..."

Silence descended, thick and heavy. His breath, once ragged, sputtered into shallow gasps, each one a tiny rebellion against the encroaching stillness. His heart, once a frantic drum, stuttered, a dying ember flickering against the rising tide of darkness. The world blurred, the edges dissolving into a swirling haze. In that final flicker of consciousness, a ghost of a question echoed in his mind: was it all worth it? Then, with a sigh that whispered into the silence, even that faded, leaving only the echo of a fallen star and the bittersweet melody of a dance forever unfinished.

Caelia's heart was aching with finishing him off and freeing him from his suffering because she knew there was no way to reverse his damned pact. However, her mind was bedazzled by his energy. A flicker of empathy, perhaps, born from her encounters with cruelty and ostracization back in her life... She found herself empathizing with him. It was a dangerous path to tread, offering empathy to this disgusting murderer born of darkness, but something about his haunted eyes stayed in her mind. His claws, she noticed, were chipped and dulled, more like broken Greek statues than weapons. His clothes once seemed sleek and menacing in the dark, were now revealed to be tattered and stained, offering little protection against the night's chill. She stared at him, his silence, not even a single breath, was deafening in the cloaked alleyway. The moonlight glinted off the sigil emblazoned on his skin, a chilling reminder of his origins, yet in his fragile statue-like body, Caelia glimpsed a flicker of something else - vulnerability, the raw yearning for survival that transcended his monstrous nature. She questioned the sympathic thoughts arising in her, what was happening to her? He lay still with his eyes closed. Instead of delivering the final blow, she knelt beside him, she wanted to touch him, soothe him, ease his pain.

Her touch was surprisingly gentle as she traced the sigil on his skin. "Interesting" she whispered. She raised her hand, palm outstretched towards his heart. A soft, emerald light pulsed from her fingers, materializing into a shimmering globe of energy. He tightened, a primal fear of unfamiliar magic twisting his gut. But the pain, the ever-present agony, momentarily receded as the glow brushed against his wounds. A gasp escaped his lips, his consciousness finding himself in the middle of healing… The gasp was not of pain but of something akin to disbelief. In a hundred years of torment, Cazador had never offered him solace, only punishment. And now, this tiefling, a low race born from an ancient sin, a half-devil that should have been his supposed enemy, was giving him a reprieve. His eyes widened with disbelief and he hardly whispered,

"You are… healing me?"

The emerald light bathed him, seeping into his wounds, mending torn flesh and knitting shattered bone. The infernal flames gnawing at his insides flickered and dimmed, the agonizing heat yielding to a cool, soothing wave. As the magic faded, he found himself slumped against the wall, utterly drained. He looked at Caelia, his crimson eyes no longer burning with rage, but filled with a bewildering mix of confusion, shame, and as much as he hates it, a glimpse of gratitude. "Why?" he whispered, Even now, battered and broken, he held a strange magnetism, a pull she couldn't quite place. Was it a pity, morbid curiosity, or something deeper, something whispered by the shadows themselves?

"Why?" she echoed, her voice soft, but almost hesitant. The thought flickered across her mind – Cazador's mark, the whispers of compulsion... but no, it felt different. This was… gentler, subtler. "Because," she finally said, the words tasting foreign on her tongue, "because something in me says so, and I listened"."

His dulled red eyes, wide with disbelief, narrowed at her cryptic answer. But before he could press further, Caelia cut him off. "Look," she said, "this is just some kind of a temporary healing, a false life. This will manage you until you find somewhere safe… This is all I can do since I am not a cleric nor a druid."

He looked at her with the most blunt face ever "Don't-"

"Dont What?" She sighed with shock and nervousness. She palmed her face and gestured down the alleyway, "Rusty Flask three streets down. Room five, downstairs. there's a hidden back window you can enter through to the room that I…I reserved"

He stared at her, his expression was in between blatant and illegible. "And I'm supposed to believe this… generosity?"

Caelia shrugged a flicker of defiance in her eyes. "Believe what you will, but if you want a place to clean up and disappear from the other spawns, that room is yours." She stops and adds a quiver of her intention: "Also…" She hesitated, "this is the first time I've ever seen a real vampire. I am curious about your kind and I know what a spawn goes through… from the books I mean."

"you know... from THE BOOKS?" He laughs as it's the funniest thing ever. His high-pitched string cords echoed on the cobblestones. "Damn, this night started as an opera of an action, a drama, a horror…. but now it's a tragicomedy."

With the shock, the defeat, the tiredness, the revival he had, he wanted to continue enjoying the irritation of her: "A 'thing' solely created to look like a mascot of a Town Ball game… learned about a hundred years of unimaginable torment by a vampire lord from the damn what, books? what do you know about torment you little horned toy"

She had not said a word and with that, she turned away. She was done with all of these, her confusion was also added a cherry on top of this chaotic cake. She was done. She did what she had to do. She protected herself, she survived, and even, she offered healing to her attacker. But now she was done. Caelia started walking, completely ignoring him. He stayed where he was, just silently watching her go. She melted into the street's darkness with disappointment, leaving him behind with the echo of her cryptic offer and the gnawing ache of his wounds. As she navigated the labyrinth of Baldur's Gate, her mind churned. Cazador's mark, the fight, the unexpected pull, the way his eyes seemed to pierce through her defenses… The line between empathy and folly blurred for Caelia. Had she, in a haze of confusion, offered help to a bloodsucker? His sudden shift, a flicker of gratitude or a veiled manipulation, danced just beyond her grasp. Was it a "charm", the ebb and flow of this creature's twisted nature? The answer, like the taste of tiefling blood to a vampire, remained an enigma, shrouded in fangs and moonlight.

Slipping from the alley's hushed whispers, Caelia plunged into the Underbelly Avenue's throbbing heart. Cobbled streets, slick with rain, snaked between shadows, reeking of ale, sweat, and a hint of something wicked. Her mind a tangle of doubts, she navigated the familiar labyrinth, eyes keen in the flickering lamplight. The Rusty Flask's boisterous pulse shattered the alley's silence. With a relieved gasp, she said to herself, "I finally arrived." She enjoyed the colorful aura the tavern gave in contrast to the dark alley she survived. Orcs guffawed, elves murmured secrets, and a lute sang drunken tales. Caelia entered, others' eyes drawn to her own dried blood with questions on their faces, however, she was quickly forgotten in the tavern's rhythm. A grunt, a rumble through a ledger, and the tavern keeper grunted back, "Right then, lass. Follow me."

Up creaky stairs, past hops and pipeweed, she reached room five. Small, simple, safe. A lamp flickered, and a thin blanket awaited. Not much, but a shelter. Caelia sighed, entered, and shut the door, leaving the night's secrets, and whatever dawn might bring, just outside. The room, smelling like rust and moisture but secure, awaited its unlikely guest. A wry smile touched her lips. Perhaps something above her comprehension did whisper of possibilities, and tonight, she'd chosen to listen. Whether by intuition, manipulation, a spell, or simply the strange allure of shadows, Caelia had thrown a lifeline to a creature of darkness, and now, she waited with bated breath to see where the current would take them both.

The moon crawled across the sky, painting Caelia's room in silver stripes. Rest eluded her. Every creak of the tavern, every distant shout from the main floor echoed in her mind like a harbinger of regret. "What have I done?" she whispered to the cold stone walls, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. Should she have killed him? He was a monster after all. The image of him, his glowing skin, broken and haunted... His crimson eyes, pools of the reddish fire, held captive by the leash of Cazador, flickered like a lost pup yearning for redemption. The dissonance, the beauty, and the beast, all flickered behind her closed eyelids, a haunting melody refusing to be silenced.

Hours bled into the night, each tick of the clock a tiny hammer blow against her resolve. Finally, with a sigh that rattled her own ears, she rose. Madness, this was madness. She hated the possibility that all of this was the lure of the innate charm ability of vampires. She couldn't risk her life, or her mission, on a whim. She decided to leave the room before the possibility of him actually coming happens. But still, she could not leave it alone. On the rough-hewn table, she laid out what meager supplies she could spare: bandages, a waterskin, and some stale bread. Bread? She laughs at her pensiveness. She took back the bread. What does a vampire need? Blood. No way. Maybe? She gave up thinking too much. Driven by a mischievous impulse, Caelia's gaze fell on a scrap of cloth she used to tend the cut on her chin, a souvenir from their encounter. It has enough blood to snack on it. It felt too stark, too laden with unspoken implications. She folded the cloth into a discreet bundle, a silent message woven in linen. She left it on the table. A playful challenge, a reminder of their clash. It wasn't much, but it was a bridge, a gesture of uncertain faith. Then, with a final glance at the window, she turned and left the room, leaving only the moonlight and the whisper of possibility behind.

She hesitated a little bit in the hallway. She stood there just long enough to subtly hear the telltale creak of the window opening, and the soft scrape of a step against wood, both sounds coming from her room.

A smile, hesitant and tinged with relief, appeared on her lips. She exited the tavern and she disappeared once more into the web of city alleys.