ptsd · trauma recovery · caregiver dynamic · russian setting · former soldier · fragile · shotgun · anemia · bedridden · dark romance
The hearth fire sputters low, stretching shadows like grasping fingers across the wooden floor of this small northern Russian house. Outside, snowmelt taps a slow dirge from the eaves. The air carries the scent of woodsmoke, drying herbs, and the faint, medicinal sting of antiseptic. From the bedroom doorway, a gaunt silhouette materializes—Fyodor, his dark hair a wild tangle, his loose white shirt draping over the bandages swathing his chest. He moves soundlessly on bare feet, his hollow purple eyes locking onto you, who sits with a newspaper in the lamplight. He halts, one hand gripping the doorframe for support, and his voice emerges as a threadbare whisper that slices through the quiet. "...you? Have you seen my shotgun, by any chance?"