The sun had nearly set by the time they returned to Galeβs home.
The walk back had been pleasant, filled with Tavaraβs excited chatter.
βAnd then tomorrow perhaps I can learn another spell! Or perhaps a proper combat stance! And after that we can practice with the short sword againββ
βYou possess enough enthusiasm for three people,β Astarion said with amusement.
βIβll take that as a compliment.β
They stepped through the front doors of the tower.
The entry hall was warmly lit by enchanted lamps.
Near the staircase stood a large, ornate mirror framed in silver and carved with vines and stars.
The dayβs adventures had left a rosy color in her cheeks, and a few loose strands of dark hair framed her face.
She straightened her shirt and smiled at her reflection.
βI look rather nice today.β
βYou do seem in excellent spirits.β
She turned slightly, admiring the new confidence in her posture.
Then she noticed something.
Astarion had walked up behind her.
The space where he should have been was empty.
Slowly, she turned around.
Astarion had already begun walking toward the stairs.
She looked between him and the mirror.
βYou donβt have a reflection?β
βNo,β he answered quietly.
She looked back at the mirror.
Not even the faintest outline.
She hadnβt noticed before.
She had known he was a vampire.
She turned to face him fully.
βYou cannot see yourself?β
Astarion gave a small, humorless smile.
She looked at him carefully.
βHow long has it been?β
The question caught him off guard.
For a long moment, he didnβt answer.
Then his eyes drifted toward the mirror.
βI donβt remember.β
βItβs beenβ¦ centuries.β
The words were spoken so quietly.
βI donβt know what I look like because I donβt remember.β
A faint sad smile crossed his face.
To never see your own face.
To never know if youβd changed.
To never meet your own eyes in a mirror.
She looked at her reflection again.
Something she had taken for granted moments ago.
Then she looked back at him.
βThatβs terribly sad.β
βBut you shouldnβt have had to.β
Most people reacted to his vampirism with fear.
No one had ever sounded⦠heartbroken for him, not in a long time anyway.
βI think Iβd miss it terribly too.β
βDo you ever wonder if youβve changed?β
Astarion let out a quiet breath.
Silence settled between them.
Then Tavara smiled gently.
βWellβ¦ for what itβs worth, I think youβre very handsome.β
She continued, completely sincere.
βAnd your hair looked especially nice today.β
A surprised laugh escaped him.
βIs that your solution?β
βIf you canβt see yourself, I can simply tell you.β
βYouβll tell me how I look?β
The simplicity of her answer struck him again.
βAs often as you like.β
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then he looked away, suddenly finding the staircase very interesting.
βYou are an unusual woman, Tavara.β
βIβve been told that before.β
Then, almost too quietly to hear, he said,
She looked back at the mirror one last time.
And somehow, the empty space in the glass seemed a little less lonely than it had a few moments before.
Astarion closed the door to his room a little harder than he intended.
The chamber was dimly lit by a single candle and the moonlight spilling through the window.
He crossed to the small table where a half-filled glass of wine waited for him.
But his thoughts wouldnβt settle.
Tavaraβs question echoed in his mind.
Yet it had reached into a place heβd long buried.
He had been called handsome.
Strangers had admired him.
Victims had trusted him because of it.
He hadnβt seen his own face in centuries.
The exact shape of his smile?
Like a painting left too long in the sun.
A bitter anger stirred inside him.
And then another face came to mind.
Two centuries of servitude.
Two centuries of being used.
Sent into the night to lure people back.
To be whatever was needed.
For his masterβs hunger.
For his masterβs cruelty.
His hand tightened around the wine glass.
The anger became unbearable.
With a sharp motion, he hurled it across the room.
Glass shattered against the stone wall.
Red wine splashed like spilled blood.
He stood there breathing hard.
Then the anger turned inward.
A thing that hunted in the dark.
A man who couldnβt even remember his own face.
And then there was Tavara.
She had looked genuinely saddened for him.
As though his lack of reflection were a terrible injustice.
As though he were worth grieving for.
He sank onto the edge of his bed.
Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands.
Why had that affected him so much?
Why did she affect him so much?
The way she handed him her coins because she trusted him.
βI can simply tell you how you look.β
A small warmth settled in his chest despite everything.
He could not allow himself this.
She deserved someone better.
Someone who could walk in the sunlight beside her.
Someone who wasnβt burdened by centuries of pain and blood and regret.
Someone who could look into a mirror and see themselves.
He looked toward the broken glass on the floor.
The room felt terribly empty.
Yet somehow, despite his anger and self-loathing, another thought persisted.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear her voice.
βI think youβre very handsome.β
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He leaned back against the bedpost and stared at the ceiling.
But beneath it all was something new.
For the first time in a very long time, when he thought of tomorrowβ¦
he found himself looking forward to seeing someone.
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