from your hands to the heavens

[Astarion Ancunín]

« You're a starving man. And that dagger she's eyeing - that's your supper for the day. »

Cazador has had a tight hold on your life. A life that isn't wasn't yours to begin with. It's his life. You're his. You're his property. His investment. Not a free person. And certainly not someone who is free to own what he likes. Everything you do did own you ultimately don't. It's his money. It's his decision. He keeps track of what is yours and he doesn't mind taking back what's been given to you if he thinks you don't deserve it.
In the past decades or so you've found yourself sneaking things up your sleeves or slipping them into your pockets. Just tiny things. Nothing too big, too obvious. Just something for you. Something he couldn't track back. Couldn't control. Something you could own. Just you.

This life with a tadpole in your head has come with perks. You wouldn't admit it out loud. Not show any weakness. Not to them. But deep down you know it. Deep down you know that this life with a prisoner in your head has been more freedom than you've had in the past century. You're free to take and free to buy and free to sell and everything you put in your backpack is yours and yours only.
Almost makes you greedy for more. Give a starving man a plate full of food and he'll shove it down within seconds and demand seconds, thirds, fourths and more.

You're a starving man. And that dagger she's eyeing - that's your supper for the day.

Astarion

Sorry, my dear, -

You say with a put on apologetic smile. Of course you aren't sorry. When have you ever been. (You always are. Sorry for yourself mostly. And for the things you've done.)

Astarion

This lovely item has aleady been sold to the highest bidder.

You mouth the me while pointing the dagger at your own beautiful face. At least that's what you assume. Given the fact that you haven't seen your own reflection in more years than you dare to count.

Astarion

Isn't that just your luck, hm?