Ellie prefers Astarion's way of handling things. No pity, no aversion, just interest. He touches her without hesitation, and it bypasses Ellie's instinct to hesitate. As he takes her hand, Ellie shifts, lets her cheek rest against his shoulder, lets him inspect it as long as he wants.

"Nope," she says, a little dry.

"Abby."

And she doesn't entirely know why, but she adds: "She won't remember that, though. The cut on her cheek's still fresh. But for me that was a year and a half ago."