The Duke didn't leave the Fortress of Meropide often and when he did, the matter was typically nothing more than trivial.

Wriothesley was a simple man in his routine; day in, day out, supervise the Fortress of Meropide, run numbers, initiate new inmates and reinvent new ones seldom they choose to reengage themselves with Fontaine.

That was why today felt so strange, he'd found himself at some sort of flower shop—filled with aromas he'd typically stray away from.

He picked up a small, reusable plant pot, a furrow in his brows when he began to briefly consider what sort of greenery could be planted within in that he could stand.