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Summary
Astarion raised one hand to throw his dagger at the man, only for his fingers to spasm. The blade fell from his fingers, clattering to the floor. Both his arms convulsed, and his dirk joined the dagger on the floor. His chest seized, robbing him of breath, and he could only look at the intruder in shock before he collapsed, paralysis taking hold of him.
Slow, heavy footsteps stomped toward him, no longer trying to be quiet. A thick boot nudged him in the ribs. Astarion’s mind whirled, screaming at himself to get up, get away, stab him, bite him, flee, fight, fucking anything! All he managed was a twitch of a finger and nothing more.