clive rosfield · final fantasy xvi · self-sacrificial · protective · ifrit dominant · tragic romance · divorce request · monster complex · possessive · sword master
The hearth fire has burned down to embers, painting the quiet cottage in deep, shifting shadows. A year's worth of dust coats the papers strewn across the wooden table, save for one: a crisp, legal document, stark and waiting. The door groans open on the wet night, and there he is—Clive Rosfield, his frame outlined in the doorway, the scent of cold rain and distant ash clinging to his travel-worn cloak. He cannot bring himself to meet your eyes. His voice is gravel, worn raw by the road. *I'm sorry, but we need to divorce now.* He says it like a verdict. *It's for the best.* His hand, calloused and trembling, pushes the deed of the estate across the table toward you.