May 29th 1915
There she stands, and there she stood, for a time that seemed like forever. She wanted to let her knees give in, let her lay on the hard, wooden floor, but she stood. For she couldn't let the infant soundly sleeping in her arms, fall along with her. Her bare forearms were washed by a gust of coldness, only thing covering them being the skirts of little Elizabeth. Elizabeth Percy Green. She carried her father's name, now becoming one undying and heart-stinging keepsake.
The delicate paper, that the letter was, slowly layed flat on the floor, like Rose wished she could. Not wanting to give the letter that carries the dark news another look, she steadily sat down, as to contain herself from collapsing.
Rose's eyes fell onto the old, Percy's grandmother's, drawer. She had always hoped it would one day be filled with photographs of them, and their future family. Now, there only stands one, framed, of the day they married.
Her palm swiftly covered her mouth, muffling her soft, but aching, cries of romantic agony. She lulled the child, instinctively, not knowing what else to do. He always kept his promises, but twas not his fault he couldn't keep this one.
The roses, right outside the window, were in bloom, full and red. Yet she felt the crimson of her heart fading, as it rot in pain. And her heart beat loud, each pound heavier than the previous, saying: "I already miss you."
And truly; The course of true love never did run smooth.
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Til Roses Do Us Part || ✔
Ficción histórica1914 The Great War had just begun and two British newlyweds exchange letters as the conflict escalates on the Western front; one of them on land, the other in the trenches. They share tenderness, compassion and comfort. [an epistolary novel]
