“ Isn’t it obvious?” The man had smiled, but there had been no real joy or playfulness in his narrowed eyes, full of botomless gray. For the longest time you wondered why, until you gained the courage to ask him yourself. Yet the officer refused to hire anyone else. Someone needed to do the hard work - to chop the wood during the long winters, to take care of the garden (safe, fresh food was scarse). You were surrounded by no life aside from the squirrels, the sparrows, the trees and the deaf maid who came once a day to clean. Locks replaced keys, then the chains replaced the locks, but at the end it didn’t really matter. Since the moment the town bells signaled the enemy attack your husband had you moved into his cottage in the nearby forrest village. You couldn’t remember those short, sacred days of happiness and peace before the blooshed, and yet they were what kept you warm during the long, cold days of isolation. The war started two months into your marriage. The officer represented everything you, and most importantly, your family, believed in - social status, financial freedom (if you could call being tied to someone freedom) and the prestige of being associated with a national hero. Raised under strict, conservative parents during times of riots, civil resistance and military coups, you learnt to prioritise stability and safety. You had married Edmund when you were still young and naive. A by - product of the endless war, of brutality and suffering beyond your imagination. You couldn’t remember when your husband became this shell of himself whether this bitter, old man had always existed within your life partner or it was a product of the time. Tw: female reader, slight nsfw, dub-con due to stockholm syndrome, talk of war, (methaphorical) suffocation, angst, depression(?), unhappy marriage, possessive behavior
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