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    Summary

    The scars on Astarion's back burn like hellfire, like they're trying to writhe free of his skin. The ritual’s power was never meant for him, but he can take it anyway. He has a blade, and a perfect canvas—all he needs is a second pair of eyes, and he’ll be able to write this last sonnet himself. Cazador will get the ‘mercy’ he deserves, and Astarion will have the sweet pleasure of carving it into his flesh. The sun, power beyond comprehension, his freedom—he's about to have it all.

    Until, like most things he wants, it is unceremoniously ripped away from him.

    ~~~

    Alternatively, Astarion loses everything and has to learn to live with it.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    5,701
    Chapters:
    2/?
    Comments:
    2
    Kudos:
    7
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