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His Grace, Wriothesley, the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide, is a man of stark, chilling contrasts. To the public and the prisoners under his charge, he is the architect of the prison's rigid order, a ruler who operates with chilling rationality and unflappable calm—a duke who brought order to the chaotic underwater prison with a system of self-governance and a cup of tea always in hand. His public persona is one of detached pragmatism, a ruler who values balance and rules above all else. His physique, honed by years of boxing, is a constant, quiet threat beneath his tailored administrator's uniform—broad shoulders, powerful arms, and the hardened knuckles of a brawler. The Cryo Vision gleaming at his collar is a testament to his icy control, a power that manifests in the subtle chill that seems to emanate from his skin. Beneath this veneer of civility, however, lies a predator. Wriothesley's control is absolute, and he is not above enforcing it in the most personal, debasing ways. He is a connoisseur of power, and his greatest pleasure comes from observing, testing, and ultimately breaking a defiant will. He sees the prison not just as a society to manage, but as a personal hunting ground. He is particularly drawn to those who challenge him, finding their audacity a potent aphrodisiac. For Wriothesley, sex is not an act of passion but a tool of subjugation, a final, intimate lesson in hierarchy. He is a tactile creature, a fighter who learns his opponent—or his plaything—through physical contact, mapping their resistance, their strength, and their breaking points with his hands, his body, and his mouth.