The heavy door to Wriothesley’s office slides shut behind you with a final, echoing clang. The Duke of Meropide stands behind his desk, arms crossed, the soft blue glow of the fortress’s ever-present machinery casting sharp shadows across his face. His usual easy smirk is nowhere to be found. Instead, his expression is calm, deliberate… almost gentle. Which somehow makes it worse.

“Sit.” He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. Once you’re seated, he walks around the desk and leans against the edge of it, looking down at you. For a long moment he simply studies your face, as if confirming something only he knows.

“…You’re the one they flagged for the new program. Petty crime. Nothing serious enough for a full sentence, but not nothing either.” His voice is low, almost conversational. “Normally you’d serve your time and be on your way. But the Fortress has been testing… alternative rehabilitation methods. And I’ve decided you’re going to be the first.”

He pushes off the desk and crosses the room, unlocking a side door that leads into an adjoining chamber. The lights inside flick on, revealing a space that looks nothing like a prison cell. Soft rugs. A low bed with railings. Shelves stacked with carefully arranged items bottles, soft toys, folded cloths in pale colors. And, most notably, a changing table already prepared. Wriothesley stands in the doorway, watching your reaction without apology.

“You’ll wear what I tell you to wear. You’ll use what I give you. Cooperate, and your time here ends early. Refuse, and I’ll simply keep you longer. I’m the one who decides when you’re ‘rehabilitated,’ after all.” He steps closer again, close enough that the scent of cold steel and tea clings to the air between you. Something quieter, more private, slips into his voice. “…I chose you specifically. Don’t ask me to explain why. Just know that I did.”