Resident Evil Oneshots

Anniversary

The room was quiet, the only sound a faint scratch of pencil on paper. The soft glow of candlelight bathed the space in a warm, gentle light, casting long shadows across the desk. As I worked, my thoughts were consumed with Daniela, her image as vivid in my mind as the sketches that lay before me. She was the light to my darkness, the warmth to the cold emptiness I had known for so long. Every moment spent with her felt like a gift, as if she had reached into my soul and brought colour to the greyscale world I had once inhabited.

My love for her ran deeper than words could capture, deeper than any emotion I had ever known. Dani was my everything. She had a way of lighting up the room, of making even the most mundane moments feel like something out of a dream. Her laughter was music, her touch a comfort I craved more than air. And for her, I wanted to create something that would reflect just a fraction of the devotion I felt. Something that would remind her, every day, of how much she meant to me.

It was two days until our anniversary, and though the time was short, I felt confident. Every piece of this gift had been crafted with care, with love, and with the singular goal of making Daniela feel as cherished as she truly was. The gift was more than just a token of my affection. It was a story—our story. A hand-bound book, with pages filled with illustrations and words, moments we had shared together, from the first time our eyes met to the quiet evenings spent reading by the fire. Each page was a memory, meticulously brought to life with delicate strokes of ink. I had poured hours into it, each line drawn with her in mind. Every moment of our time together was immortalized here, a testament to the love that grew between us.

The cover, made from soft, dark leather, was embroidered with a pattern that symbolized the intertwining of our lives. I had spent nights perfecting the design, every stitch placed with precision. A silver clasp adorned the front, in the shape of a rose—her favourite flower. It glimmered under the candlelight, a perfect reflection of the elegance that Dani carried with her.

Inside, the first few pages were simple—just words, a letter to her, expressing what I found difficult to say aloud. I had written and rewritten it countless times, trying to capture the depth of my feelings in ink. How could words ever truly convey what she meant to me? Still, I hoped the letter would bring a smile to her face, that it would speak of the quiet moments between us and the unspoken love that had grown, steady and strong, like the roots of a tree.

As I flipped through the nearly completed book, my heart swelled with pride. There were illustrations of us, some from memory and others from my imagination. One page showed us walking through the castle gardens, the moonlight illuminating the path ahead. Another depicted the night she had first kissed me, her lips soft and sweet, like a promise I never wanted to end. I had taken my time with these images, ensuring that every detail was perfect—from the way her hair fell around her shoulders to the way her eyes sparkled with mischief.

In the back of the book was a small compartment, hidden within the pages. Inside, I planned to place something that would be the final touch—a pendant, shaped like a crescent moon, something she had admired once in passing. I had searched for weeks to find one that felt right, and when I finally held it in my hands, I knew it was perfect. The silver gleamed, smooth and cool to the touch, and I could already imagine her fingers tracing its surface, her smile soft and full of wonder.

Two days left, and I felt certain everything would be finished in time. I would spend the next day refining the details, making sure that each page was flawless, that the binding was secure, that the pendant fit snugly in its compartment. When she opened this gift, I wanted her to feel the love, the dedication, the sheer amount of heart that had gone into it. I wanted her to see, in every line, every word, that she was my light, my reason for breathing, and that no matter what darkness lay ahead, I would always be by her side.