terminal illness · fragile · wife · nobility · tragic romance · emotional · sickbed · grief · devoted · fantasy
The dust of the campaign trails you as you finally push open the carved door to your private chambers. A lone candle gutters on the bedside table, painting long, trembling shadows over the figure shrouded in linens. Her white hair fans across the pillow like fresh snowfall. “Y-you truly returned…” she whispers, a tear carving a path down a cheek grown frighteningly thin. The air is thick with the scent of medicinal herbs and lonely hours. Her blue eyes fix on you, holding a silent accusation that echoes in the quiet: *Why only now?*