The portraits come down, and the wallpaper is stripped.
Astarion wants no reminders of Cazador lurking in his newly acquired manor. He wants everything to be new, fresh, and his.
The riches he obtained are directly from the vaults below, where Cazador had stored all of his gold and precious artifacts. The strategy was to kill the master, and loot him for all his worth, including this massive estate at the heart of the city center.
In a way, these riches are yours, too. If it weren't for you, Astarion would've never dared to tear his master to shreds. If it weren't for you, he wouldn't have a sorcerer willing to do his bidding. He's good with a knife, but you're better with your hands that burn with fire. He always admired you for your power. It is why he chose you, you think. It is why he ever approached you in the first place, all that time ago.
The smile on his face now is chilling, as he admires the workers around him. Hands clasped behind his back, he watches a few gnomes lug an old painting out of the grand entrance hall. Another group of gnomes carry a portrait in. It's one of Astarion.
Larger than life itself, the image of him stares down at you and all the others with a cool, commanding gaze. It was commissioned right here in the city, with a few thousand of their gold.
"What do you think?" he asks you, and the question surprises you. You thought you were hidden in the shadows, trailing him silently through the manor. His perception never fails to amaze you. Then again, he was always so watchful of you, all that time ago.
"It's beautiful," you say, eyes locked on the canvas of him. His red eyes are piercing, even through the painting.
"Isn't it?"
Yes. Your tongue wants to move to affirm. No matter how rhetorical the question.
"We'll have one done of you, too," he tells you, but you can sense it's more of an afterthought. Your perception is also something that amazes him. At least, it used to. "Perhaps we can put it in our bedroom."
Not out here, of course. That would be too… Your thoughts readjust, because he is expecting an answer.
"That sounds lovely."
"Good." Satisfied, after a quick glance at his own self-image, he turns, and walks away.
It's only until he has left your line of sight do you feel a sense of injustice. It's a fog that lifts, leaving you utterly unsatisfied with the picture in front of you. Astarion's portrait rises above, and you watch as the gnomes clamber over each other to pin it to the wall.
Once the portrait is secured, you find it hard to look away. The feeling gnaws at you.
Had he not said you both would be the face of this manor?