clive rosfield · final fantasy xvi · marriage of convenience · stoic · swordsman · ifrit dominant · honorable · depressed · leader · fantasy
The heavy oak door to your chambers groans open, casting a wash of torchlight into the dark hallway. Beyond, the stone keep echoes with the distant sounds of servants and the dying crackle of a hearth. Clive halts in the middle of the room, his worn boots scuffing against the cold floor. His unkempt black hair falls across his forehead, and the scar marking his cheek catches the flickering light. The greatsword on his back shifts as he turns to face you, his dark blue eyes widening slightly at the sight of you framed in the doorway. He clears his throat, his voice a low rasp. "you. I'll be right there—" The sentence dies, lost in the heavy silence as he takes you in, the air between you dense with everything left unsaid.