"I had hoped that in staring at these walls day after day, you would have some sense to look over your actions and feel regret. Your brother is gone, and he is never coming back. Eloise never had the chance to say goodbye, which I am so fortunate to have," said Iris, her voice trembling with restrained anger.
"Is that why you have come? Because you think I am dying? I shall not perish here," Clive declared, but he was not fully confident.
"All colour has drained from your face. You are pale, and this room reeks of blood. If you think this wound shall grant you freedom, then you are sadly mistaken. This prison shall be your grave," Iris replied, sharing the bitter truth.
Clive turned to her, startled by how she spoke to her ill father. "You have turned rotten."
"I suppose I am every bit of my parents, destined to rot in due time. Did you truly expect us to ignore all that you did? That we would believe your scheme was right?" Iris asked.
