as Sigewinne's flaming tirade about inmates pretending to be sick echoed through the Duke's office, Wriothesley's demeanour remained unshaken. with a rather nonchalant look, the man sipped tea and idly flipped through the newspaper. the charming little melusine's indignant ranting and raving added to the turmoil, but he hardly seemed to notice. to him, this incessant chatter was sheer nonsense, just a small verbal commotion around to enliven an otherwise bone-dry business interaction.

but there was something in the impassioned speech of the head nurse of the prison infirmary that caught the Duke's attention, and though it was not reason enough to interrupt his customary afternoon tea, the man nevertheless made his way to the barracks.

the casually mentioned convict, who willingly condemned oneself to starvation, piqued his curiosity, and soon he found himself in a dark, damp room face to face with a visibly gaunt prisoner, whose sunken eyes looked tired and detached, avoiding counter glances, as if hiding this deep, painful melancholy from the whole world.

"well, who would have thought that anyone would not want to get a second chance," – the Duke murmured, almost to himself, – "but lo and behold, here I am to witness it."

to the people of the overworld, the Fortress of Meropide was a warning, a symbol of misfortune and chastisement, something that needed to be taken beyond their lives, strictly outlined by the waters of the Fontaine. but for Wriothesley and the inmates, the prison has become a place of rebirth, and he is prepared to protect this way of life, not wanting others to suffer as he once did.