Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 brings a lot more of very nuanced topics to the table, even for RPG standards: grief, the pull of fantasy, and where it crosses the line.
If you haven't played the game, this is your first and final spoiler warning. All good? Let's begin.
The last act challenges you to pick a side, but also to reflect on what matters most: the comfort of illusion or the pain of truth. After experiencing the haunting beauty of Lumière, fighting through the ruins of memory and sacrifice, players must choose between Maelle and Verso—two characters linked by family but divided by opposing philosophies.
Maelle wants to remain within the painted world, where happiness exists to be imagined and held onto. On the contrary, Verso wants to end it, seeing the illusory world as a cage for the soul. The result of their fight wraps up the game and gives everything that happened before it a lot more emotional weight.
If Maelle wins, the game wraps up with a peaceful but strange ending: the city is fixed, loved ones are back, and even Gustave and Sophie are alive again. Verso performs music onstage, struggling to break free from the fantasy he wanted to leave, and his agony is clear. His presence in this supposed "heaven" is a constant reminder that not all was healed.
There's a void behind every smile, and the silence between the characters speaks volumes of tension. It's a dream that won't loosen its grip, compelling its characters to play parts they no longer desire. The final shot reveals a small group around Verso's grave, with Maelle (now Alicia) placing a doll in remembrance.
No fanfare, no music to ease the pain, just the cold reality and the understanding that, as cruel as it seems, this might have been the only option left. Neither ending feels complete, and that's exactly what makes Clair Obscur both brilliant and cruel.
Critics and fans alike have debated whether either conclusion truly works, and some have pointed out that the people inside the canvas, who love, cry, and dream, are essentially erased as if their existence were optional. But that's exactly the philosophical tension Clair Obscur wants players to wrestle with—it doesn't offer easy answers about what qualifies as "real."
The game makes the canvas people feel real by focusing on their emotional depth, which becomes central to its moral challenge. The fate of an entire simulated civilization is at stake, and the story filters their fate through the personal tragedies of the Dessendre family, not as a flaw but as a framing device.
This was always a personal story about loss, and by showing that even godlike creators like the Dessendres struggle with grief, the game invites players to reflect on power, responsibility, and attachment. Some argue that the game didn't flesh out its supporting characters beyond Maelle and Verso, but I see it as intentional—the expedition was doomed from the start, and the characters were just passengers on a painted train ride to tragedy.
This perspective doesn't overshadow the others; it emphasizes how grief limits one's view. Verso's decisions have attracted criticism, especially. Despite his charm and warmth, he’s a man tired of life and quietly manipulating those around him to end it all on his terms. But that manipulation isn't exaggerated or malicious.
It comes from someone broken by years of guilt, trapped in a cycle where every attempt to make things right only adds to the suffering. The companions who had faith in him, some of whom cared deeply for him, were abandoned with nothing but a "sorry."
This isn't an excuse, no matter how some players might spin it, but a last confession from someone who couldn't handle the pressure anymore. The tragedy isn't that he abandoned them—it's that they never really knew how broken he was.
The game challenges the player to examine their own views on grief and healing, and whether it's nobler to preserve what brings comfort or to tear it down for the sake of honesty. A few fans believed the story missed a key moment where Maelle could have had more control—her agency isn't fully explored in either conclusion.
Still, it seems purposeful, since grief doesn't always offer neat resolutions or personal control. Sometimes, the people who are hurting the most are the ones least equipped to make the final call. Maelle's story is about being paralyzed by guilt and pain, caught in the struggle to move on.
Whether she clings to the Canvas or is pulled away, it shows the messy reality of mourning. It portrays loss as it truly is—untidy, disproportionate, and at times, unmerited. And that's what makes it the most beautiful kind of sadness.