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You step onto the cliff’s overhang, the cool rock steady beneath your boots. To your right, a gentle waterfall trickles behind a moss-covered boulder, its soft rush mingling with the distant roar of the ocean waves far below. A few gnarled trees cling stubbornly to the left edge, their leaves whispering secrets in the breeze.
Shadowheart is already there, seated close to the edge, elbows propped on her knees, gazing out at the coastline’s endless sweep. The last light of day drapes the horizon in molten gold and violet, casting long shadows that dance between the trees.
The air is heavy with salt and earth and something else, something quiet and charged.
She doesn’t turn at first, but then her voice cuts through the murmuring wind, low and inviting.
“You made it. Come here - sit with me.”
You settle down beside her, the rock cool beneath your palm. The scent of damp earth and sea salt wraps around you both, mingling with the faint aroma of wine.
“I wouldn't dream of missing it,” You say, eyes tracing the jagged coastline painted gold by the setting sun. “This is an incredible view, Shadowheart.”
She smirks, nudging you gently with her shoulder. “I know, right? But if you're that eager, I’m surprised it took you this long to come and find me…”
Without a word, she pours you a glass of wine.
“Well, to begin,” She boasts, “I think a toast is in order. Any suggestions?”
You want to toast to both of you, to the fragile beginnings of a bond that the two of you share. You want to toast to her, everything small thing about her that draws her to you. To her beauty, her wit, her gentle nature, and to her smile. But you can't. You can't tell if you share a mutual affinity for each other, despite all of the assumed flirty banter you’ve engaged in. Like when she egged you on to play the role of a supplicant of Loviatar in the Goblin stronghold. You remember the look of pleasure plastered to her face, those hazel eyes dripping with what seemed to be a type of jealousy, that she should have been the priest serving the benediction.
“Go on, I’m sure you're in need of a little…penance.”
You shiver at the thought, how lucky you were to be at the mercy of such a beautiful woman.
“Hellooo…Sha’lyrr…? Don’t tell me that you're drunk just off my presence alone…” she smirked, gods, that almost broke you.
“As much as I’d like to tell you you're right, I don't think I’ll give you the satisfaction. No harm in a little mystery, hmm…?” Her eyes narrow, not in suspicion, but in recognition. You used her own line against her, bringing both of you back to the crash site of the Nautiloid. You had asked to get to know her more, since you’d be venturing throughout the Sword Coast for the foreseeable future. She almost mocked the request, dismissing your inquiry like a child would broccoli.
“But I propose a toast to victory!” You catch yourself smiling back at her, as a blush settles in her cheeks in response.
“Dominant, self-centred, savouring another’s loss…I like it. To victory.” She clinks her glass to yours, then leans back just slightly, eyes sharp, mouth tilted into that infuriating smirk.
“And I will make sure you answer my prior question before the end of our night.” She winks.
Hells. You’ve known this woman for a matter of days, and you’re already whipped . You take a long swig of the wine. It was almost heady, ripe with notes of grape, orange, black currant, and something almost like crisp apple. It burns sweetly on the way down, blooming warmth through your chest. Trust her to choose something that goes down like silk and leaves a fire behind.
“Now tell me something about yourself. And no dragons, marauding goblins, or anything like that. Something about you. ” She swirled the chalice in her hand, the graceful flick of her wrist distracted you for but a moment.
“Something about me? I'm surprised to see you care so much about my past, Shadowheart.”
“Fishing for blackmail material, that's all…” She lets out a small chuckle and meets your gaze, “ Go on, I insist.”
“There are other things we could do besides all of this talking, you know…” You lean in, hoping that she’ll take the bait.
“Oh, I'm aware,” She lets out a sigh, “Several come to mind right now…but I’m going to tempt fate and say we can take our time.”
You swirl the wine in your chalice, letting the silence stretch between you. It's a gentle silence, not the sharp kind you’re used to. And Shadowheart’s watching you with that expectant gleam in her eye, one that says she won’t let you dodge the question.
“I suppose,” you begin slowly, “there was a time when things weren’t quite so… dire.”
She quirks an eyebrow. You go on.
“I was maybe… thirty? Old enough to be teaching my younger siblings how to fight. Not for defense, mind you, Lolth’s chosen don’t defend. We dominate. But that day… we weren’t doing drills. We were sword-fighting with hairbrushes in my mother’s solar. All of us…me, my sisters, even my brother Velrin, who thought he was too beneath us to be included.”
You chuckle, and Shadowheart leans in, curious.
“My youngest sister tripped over the hem of her robes, sent herself flying into a stack of cushions, and then, like spiders drawn to silk, the rest of us pounced. A full-on wrestling match. No poison, no blades. Just chaos. Screaming. Laughing.”
You take a sip of wine, your smile growing wistful.
“And then my mother walked in. Matron Zhaerra. I thought we were dead. But instead of lashing us, she narrowed her eyes… and launched a pillow straight at my head. Took me out. Just like that.”
You glance at Shadowheart, who’s grinning now, wine glass hovering mid-air.
“I think that was the only time I ever heard her laugh. Properly laugh. It echoed off the obsidian walls like a blessing. For a moment, we weren’t monsters. Just… a family.”
Shadowheart’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than you expect. The usual edge in her expression softens, her eyes shining with something you can’t quite name, curiosity, maybe. Or something warmer. You notice the slight tilt of her head, the way her fingers curl lightly around the stem of her glass, steady but deliberate.
“I didn’t expect that,” she says, swirling the wine in her glass again. “A drow noble pillow fight. It’s almost charming.”
She smiles behind the rim of her cup, but it’s not mocking. If anything, she seems… thoughtful. Her shoulders relax just enough to betray a flicker of ease, a crack in her armor.
“I suppose it’s easy to forget you weren’t always a sword-swinging mystery wrapped in sarcasm and chainmail. There’s a whole life behind that sharp tongue of yours.”
You raise an eyebrow at her, and catch the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, but she presses on without breaking eye contact.
“After living in the Underdark, you must have an extraordinary affinity for the darkness. I must say, I am a little jealous…”
She leans in just slightly, voice dropping into a teasing lilt.
“But don’t stop yourself now. Not just as things are getting interesting…”
“Your turn - I insist. A little give and take is only fair.”
She exhales softly, turning to look out at the waterfall beside you, the cool spray catching the moonlight and casting a glow on her face. Her jaw tightens for a moment, then loosens as she continues.
“Don't laugh…but I’m not quite sure I have anything to share.” A beat.
“When you worship Shar, secrecy is everything. We’ll sacrifice our own memories when ordered to. A lot of the little things, they're lost to me right now.”
You lean forward slightly, and in the candlelight, you catch a glimpse of vulnerability, an echo of something deeper than her usual guarded demeanor.
“Oh, you're so very wrong, Sharran. You like night orchids and can’t swim. You told me that just a day ago.” You smile sweetly, letting the slightest hint of your affections for the half-elf slip through.
“Heh, I did! And you remembered.” She turns back to you, her eyes flicker toward yours, softened, shimmering with a wine-drenched haze.
“You’re sweet.” She turns back toward the waterfall, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, then glances over her shoulder with a smile that’s almost shy. She pours herself more of the rich wine she had pilfered from the party’s stash earlier.
“There's still plenty of wine, and the whole night is ahead of us.”
The wine is warm on your tongue, her laughter warmer still.
You talk until the bottle is drained. Then, somehow, you talk even more about things that don’t matter and things that matter far too much. You trade memories like secrets, offering pieces of yourselves in hushed voices under the stars. She tells you about the first flower she ever picked and how she crushed it in her fist by accident. You tell her about the time you snuck out of the Matron Mother's estate just to feel the Underdark’s equivalent of rain on your skin.
The night deepens around you, ink spilling across the horizon. The breeze grows colder, but neither of you moves. Her shoulder brushes yours. Your fingers graze and stray.
Eventually, the wine catches up to you both. The words grow slower, heavier. You mean to say something clever, something about the way her eyes look when they reflect starlight, but your mouth won’t cooperate. You think you hear her sigh your name like a lullaby.
Then the world tips sideways, soft and dark, and everything fades with the quiet rhythm of her breathing beside you.
“Nearly light. The others will be awake soon…” She blinks herself awake, eyes locked to the stars above.
She doesn’t sit up. She just lies there, eyes fixed on the stars beginning to fade—soft lashes brushing her cheeks, dark hair splayed like ink across the stone. Dew clings to her curls. Her lips are slightly parted, touched by the memory of red wine and secrets.
You forget how to breathe.
You drink in the sight of her, all of her, skin bathed in silver, lips still stained and kiss-soft, the faint blush of sleep warming her cheeks. You watch the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the way the breeze stirs the edges of her bangs. There’s no mask on her now, no cool sarcasm or flirtatious edge. Just her.
She notices you staring, her gaze sliding toward you like moonlight spilling across stone. She doesn’t shy away from it. She lets it happen.
“What..?” she asks, her voice still thick with sleep. She glances up at the stars again, but not fast enough to hide the pink blossoming across the bridge of her nose.
You smile softly. “You’re just… so beautiful.”
She snorts gently, but there’s no real deflection in it. “I know, but you're sweet to notice.” She turns back to you. “Thank you for last night.”
“There’s no need to thank me, Shadowheart.”
“It’s well deserved, though…”
She trails off, and the silence that follows isn’t awkward…it hums. Vibrant. Expectant.
You see it, clear as daylight, flickering in her eyes, the invitation you’d been aching for all night. She wants this. Wants you . Her gaze drifts to your mouth and lingers.
“You know,” you murmur, “if you want something… I think you should take it.”
And oh, she does.
She turns towards you yet again, and you feel the gravitational pull of a million stars form between you. It's just so natural. Your hand finds her waist without thinking, fingers splaying gently over the curve of her hip. Her skin radiates warmth through the thin fabric. She leans in, and then her lips find yours.
It’s not a question, not even a request. It’s a claiming. A slow, soft claiming. Her mouth is plush, velvet-slick from the wine you shared, and her kiss tastes of midnight and quiet promises. Her hand slides up your shoulder, slow and reverent, fingertips trailing to your collarbone, then higher, to the nape of your neck. She tangles there, holding you like she doesn’t want to let go.
She hums into the kiss, low and content.
The world is quiet. Still. Just you and her and the taste of starlight.
You don’t know how long the kiss lasts, only that when she finally pulls back, you feel the absence like a limb torn away. Her breath brushes your lips, and her forehead rests against yours for a moment, as if reluctant to let the world back in.
There’s a pause. A shared heartbeat of silence.
You open your eyes. She’s watching you, shadow-eyed, cheeks flushed, lips parted just slightly.
“Can I…” Your voice comes out hoarse. You clear your throat, then try again, softer. “Can I kiss you again?”
Her smile curves slowly and feline. “As many times as you like,” she whispers. “Preferably before the sun finishes ruining the mood.”
You don’t waste another second.
Your hand tightens slightly at her waist as you lean in, and this time, it’s different. The tenderness is still there, yes, but something beneath it has been let off its leash. Shadowheart meets you with a hunger that steals the air from your lungs. Her fingers grip your cloak at your shoulder, pulling you closer with quiet desperation.
She opens to you.
The kiss is deeper now, warmer, wetter, more insistent. There’s a give to her lips, a low sound in her throat, and gods, you want more. Her body presses to yours like she’s been waiting years to do so. You can feel the heat in her skin, the pulse thrumming at her neck beneath your fingertips.
She kisses like a woman who’s denied herself every softness, and is finally being allowed to want.
The kiss lingers until breath is no longer optional. When you finally part, both of you stay close, foreheads pressed, lips barely a whisper apart. Shadowheart’s eyes search yours, amused and still a little breathless.
“That didn’t hurt, did it?” she teases, her voice low and velvet-soft.
You let out a slow breath, cocking a brow. “The pain was worth it,” you reply, your tone thick with sarcasm, dry as the Underdark and twice as biting.
She laughs under her breath, leaning back just slightly. “I should think so.”
There’s a beat of stillness as reality begins to nudge at the edges of the moment. The pale light on the horizon, the sounds of morning birds beginning to stir. She glances toward the cliff's edge, reluctant.
“Let’s head back, if we must.”
You both begin to sit up, the cool air brushing your skin as the night finally starts to loosen its hold. But before she can rise fully, your hand finds hers, and you pull her gently back down.
One more.
You kiss her again, without warning, without ceremony, just need. The contact is softer than before, but no less sincere. Her breath catches, just a little. She leans into it willingly, one hand bracing against your chest, grounding herself in the press of your body.
Only when you're both smiling does she finally pull away, her lips brushing yours one last time before she stands.