[There's a moment of curious anticipation when Gale moves from where he's sitting. Astarion isn't sure what to expect, really. Something magic, obviously, he can tell that much from the raw magic begins to well in Gale's hands and the glow of his orb. But despite seeing Gale cast his cantrips and smaller illusions before, he hadn't expected this, hadn't even thought to consider it. His eyes go wide as the image takes form, completely captivated by it.]
You—I can't believe you.
[His voice is breathless with wonder, he reaches up, his fingers hovering above the image without touching as his other hand traces along his own skin in a mirror image. There he is. The face that was taken from him, stolen from him, returned again. The memory of it floods back to him, so much that he's forgotten about the curl of his hair, the way it twists around the tips of his ears, the soft shape of his lips and eyes.
It's the eyes that catch him the most, the color of them. He'd wondered at what color they must be, there are so many different shades of red, after all. It's honestly more stunning that he'd thought in his less than charitable moments. A soft, wondering smile grows on his lips. For all his vanity, his insistent, stubborn clinging to the fact that he must be beautiful, since he was before and there's certainly no way he would survive this long if his body wasn't somehow appealing, there's an indescribable difference in truly seeing it for himself.]
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You—I can't believe you.
[His voice is breathless with wonder, he reaches up, his fingers hovering above the image without touching as his other hand traces along his own skin in a mirror image. There he is. The face that was taken from him, stolen from him, returned again. The memory of it floods back to him, so much that he's forgotten about the curl of his hair, the way it twists around the tips of his ears, the soft shape of his lips and eyes.
It's the eyes that catch him the most, the color of them. He'd wondered at what color they must be, there are so many different shades of red, after all. It's honestly more stunning that he'd thought in his less than charitable moments. A soft, wondering smile grows on his lips. For all his vanity, his insistent, stubborn clinging to the fact that he must be beautiful, since he was before and there's certainly no way he would survive this long if his body wasn't somehow appealing, there's an indescribable difference in truly seeing it for himself.]
Gods, it's all there.