[No, were it so easy to return to who they could have been, or might have been, centuries ago. Astarion knows that maybe they'll never reach that point, that they've been warped too much by circumstance ever to fit that mold.

But they can still change. Still be malleable up to a certain point. Maybe that's all that matters.]

Complimented, scolded, and teased. It's simply because here, no one sees you as part of the staff -- instead, just another guest.

[And perhaps, in the long run, that's not such a bad thing at all.

Up ahead, there seems to be a spot in the corridor free from ice, and so Astarion makes that their aim as they walk.]

How do you feel about that, then? Regaining even the smallest spark of what feels like... humanity?