[ Astarion doesn't want to turn the attention back to himself - for once - as the conversation is a little too... Real for him. The idea of admitting anything about himself aloud is a painful one, and his eyes glance over to Godfrey before he breathes out a little huff of noise, waving his hand absently. What a silly, foolish thing, to be so emotional over nothing more than a simple little story. ]

Many people do, or so I've heard.

[ The stars captivate him again, for a little while, and before he can get too lost in all his thoughts he tries to muster some kind of words. ]

Must there be something? When I look at the stars nothing in particular comes to mind. Simply the silence of a world that has rarely given any answer.

[ His expression flickers, and then he turns to look at Godfrey again, properly. ]

I don't have stories of husbands, or learning a language, or working in a church.

[ The notion of which makes his words curl with disdain. ]

Just what you already know.

[ The scrabbling of rats, hunger that never ends, his body under others with nothing but the darkness of a ceiling to keep him present in the moment. ]