⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✩ 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈: ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠 ⠀ ⠀

⠀⠀⠀𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑺, stained with the ink of her trade and the grime of the field, rested limply on the table, far too tired to begin their nightly dance across the typewriter keys; the remnants of the day's dispatches lay scattered —— like her thoughts.

⠀⠀⠀𝑶𝑵 𝑨𝑵 𝒖𝒑𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 crate, an impromptu table set between them, there’s a bottle of scotch —— one liberated from an unknown stash, and two mismatched glasses. The war’s over; what now, 𝑬𝑮𝑨𝑵, 𝑱𝑶𝑯𝑵.? “ What are you thinking about? “

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 ( 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 ) 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

you once told me that my tears do nothing good for the dead. why, then, are you crying at my grave?

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 𝑬𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑹.. ⠀⠀