![[Image ID: a screenshot of an unpublished chapter on AO3 that reads: Astarion had never slept before. He'd also never had dreams before. To be fair, he'd never lived before. He'd always just... been, in a state of burning existence with an incendiary pulse that matched the Astral Sea's cosmic thrumming. The pinnacle, and the beginning. Aged by eons and as innocent as a babe, a ceaseless light, a never ending roar in an ever growing choir of oblivion. That is, he was all of that, until he was violently ripped from his warm stasis and crushed, condensed, molded into a suffocating humanoid form and discarded vehemently to the surface of Toril. The cataclysmic fall had been glorious, at least, as far as Astarion could recall, other than the cold. He'd never been cold before he was forced into a form of flesh, and he decidedly did not care for it. /End ID]](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Gh4Dkc9XgAAUQuy.png?name=small&format=webp)
ALT [Image ID: a screenshot of an unpublished chapter on AO3 that reads: Astarion had never slept before. He'd also never had dreams before. To be fair, he'd never lived before. He'd always just... been, in a state of burning existence with an incendiary pulse that matched the Astral Sea's cosmic thrumming. The pinnacle, and the beginning. Aged by eons and as innocent as a babe, a ceaseless light, a never ending roar in an ever growing choir of oblivion. That is, he was all of that, until he was violently ripped from his warm stasis and crushed, condensed, molded into a suffocating humanoid form and discarded vehemently to the surface of Toril. The cataclysmic fall had been glorious, at least, as far as Astarion could recall, other than the cold. He'd never been cold before he was forced into a form of flesh, and he decidedly did not care for it. /End ID]












