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Being out and about had never been a big deal for Astarion. In fact, he liked it. Being seen and perceived by other people was a great source of pride for him, even when the reactions were always much the same. Awe. Intrigue. Jealousy.
All that satisfaction, however, was quickly out of the window whenever he passed a mirror. People got to look, to stare at him all they liked. To keep his appearance in their memories and recall it over and over, if they so pleased. Yet, when he looked into the full length mirror in front of him, there was nothing. The mirror, due to no fault of its own, showed the reflection of his surroundings. People, critters, anything and everything that was in front of it. But not him. Never him.
With a shaky hand, Astarion reached out for the smooth, reflective surface, his fingers tracing out where he thought his face might be. His eyes darted across the non existent reflection. Searching, staring even, as if it might pop up eventually, if only he looked hard enough.
But...the mirror didn't yield. No matter how long he stared it down, his reflection didn't show.
Vain. People often called him that. And maybe he was. Though... was it really vanity to yearn for a part of him that he would never be able to see? Yes, he knew he looked good. He could see it in the way people reacted upon seeing him. How they looked at him when he indulged them, giving them the smallest bit of his attention. A compliment here, a well calculated smile there, and most everyone was at his feet.
Yet, at the end of the day, it wasn't really in his hands, was it? Even if he has learned to groom himself, do his hair and perfect every aspect of his appearance without the aid of a mirror...he wouldn't know if something was out of place.
Astarion scoffed at his invisible reflection. Gods knew how much time he had wasted thinking about all of this. No matter how much he would, however, it wouldn't change a thing.
He could stare and think and wonder until the hells would go cold and the skies were falling down.
His reflection would remain a mystery to him. Perhaps, he thought, the mirror didn't even know he was there. And it was fitting, wasn't it? For all intents and purposes, he shouldn't exist. A man who succumbed to death centuries ago and had been buried and forgotten like so many other before him.
No matter how hard he tried, or what he did, the mirror stood tall and eternally reminded him that he did not belong. He wasn't part of the picture. He was never supposed to be.
Yet he knew that, before long, he would find himself in front of a mirror again. Staring. Searching. For, perhaps, one day, he may just catch a glimpse. And he prayed to the gods that whatever...whoever he saw, would not leave him horrified.