[ (In that pile, one book Astarion had brought, himself: the volume Gale had gifted him at Christmas. He's only managed to make it through a chapter or two, any feats of heroism sitting not-quite-right with his current state, but it's there, regardless.) ]

I am returned to my former self, at least.

[ Weak, again. Drained of that shine and sparkle. Just Astarion. Even his usual way with words seems depleted, as he opens his mouth and then closes it, stoppering whatever song might have flown forth, before.

I was not myself, he wants to say, but that's not quite true. Everything he'd been under ReSculpt's influence had been some mirror to the truth, to what he's longed for and worked for since escaping the Szarr Palace. And it hadn't been good, hadn't been enough. Except— ]

I wanted to ... apologize. [ Like pulling teeth. Not the concept of apologizing, as a whole, but confronting his previous behavior. ]

I behaved rather poorly, and you suffered the brunt of it.