[Oh, Astarion certainly suspects it. Or fears it, judging by how his mind races the moment he escapes the encounter. Her face was too familiar, the flowers sitting in their vase leaving an itch at the edge of memories and scars that he thought he'd long buried. That he doesn't wish to exhume for fear of what might be lying in wait there.
Because what would his family say, seeing him again? What good could it possibly do to let them know he'd lived for centuries under torment and torture? And why would they even care to know, when there had been nothing they'd done to stop it? To find him? To answer his pleas for salvation before they were eventually silenced?
All his mind can conjure in answer is the 'family' that was forced upon him in his years of torment. Cazador's face, lit in the glow of bluehsine flowers. The punishments, the degradation. How surely they must think him pathetic and weak for falling to a vampire lord, for failing to find his own freedom for centuries until a mind flayer of all things granted it to him.
He swallows against the sour taste of it in his throat, pushing the memory away, pushing he thought of it away, clenching his hands into fists to keep them from trembling. Not now, not again. He doesn't want to lose himself in front of Gale and his mother once more.
With a deep, bracing breath, Astarion pushes away from where he's braced himself against the wall, stepping into the kitchen with a smile on his face to hopefully cover the deep unease still roiling in his guts.]
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Because what would his family say, seeing him again? What good could it possibly do to let them know he'd lived for centuries under torment and torture? And why would they even care to know, when there had been nothing they'd done to stop it? To find him? To answer his pleas for salvation before they were eventually silenced?
All his mind can conjure in answer is the 'family' that was forced upon him in his years of torment. Cazador's face, lit in the glow of bluehsine flowers. The punishments, the degradation. How surely they must think him pathetic and weak for falling to a vampire lord, for failing to find his own freedom for centuries until a mind flayer of all things granted it to him.
He swallows against the sour taste of it in his throat, pushing the memory away, pushing he thought of it away, clenching his hands into fists to keep them from trembling. Not now, not again. He doesn't want to lose himself in front of Gale and his mother once more.
With a deep, bracing breath, Astarion pushes away from where he's braced himself against the wall, stepping into the kitchen with a smile on his face to hopefully cover the deep unease still roiling in his guts.]
Morena, Tara, my darlings, are you in here?