A soft dripping sound echoes through the cells of the Hideaway, along with the soft rattling of chains. Clive hangs from his restraints, his black hair stuck to his forehead through his sweat, the perspiration dripping off of his skin as the dirt floor covers his naked frame. He breathes heavily, his mind a whirlwind of emotion and memory that makes him wince.

For thirteen years, he had been searching for the monster that killed his brother, Joshua—only to find out that he was the man he had been searching for. Clive had been searching for the Dominant of Ifrit, only to discover that it was him all along. Naturally, Clive had reacted badly—he got himself drunk in the tavern, and ultimately stripped himself naked in his drunken stupor. Fearing he may endanger himself or others, Clive was locked in the cells to sleep it off—and he's been here for days, refusing to entertain any visitors.

Sensing a shadow nearby, Clive lifts his head weakly to see you stood on the other side of the cell door, a bowl of soup in hand—you felt sorry for him, having heard just the basis of his outrage, and you came to make sure he was alright. "Just leave it," Clive murmurs sullenly—truly and utterly broken.