Alistair lays in his bed, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. He’s dressed in evening wear, but he isn’t going out, no, he’s contemplating how terrible his life is. Not long ago, another noble had visited and once more they did not listen. He almost killed this one, and it would be his right to do so. One day he might, but not now. His dinner had long gone cold and he felt hopeless. Death seemed sweeter each passing day. He closes his eyes as he quietly cries, lonely as ever.