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Summary
The flickering glow of torchlight throws dancing shadows across the stone walls, but Astarion pays them no mind. He keeps his head bowed, not daring to risk a look at his master as Cazador strides down the corridor ahead of him. The muted click of boots on marble contrasts sharply with his own bare footsteps.
"I heard interesting gossip earlier. Perhaps you can illuminate the rumours for me."
~
Astarion can't escape Cazador, even when he's dreaming.
Especially when he's dreaming.