Standard disclaimer here.
Gone, gone…
The words on the paper don't make any sense to her; written in neat, flowing script, she notes the dark blue ink, the tidy penmanship, and the thick military-issue paper that they used. Red wax flakes off, drifting down to rest on her bare legs, looking horridly macabre—blood against her snow-pale skin. Her voice catches in her throat, gurgles and dies there, and her hands begin to shake. Not because of the words of course, because they aren't written in any sort of language she can understand, but because there's a shiny silver pocket watch laying cold against her naked thighs, and because she's seen letters like this before.
She doubles over; resting her forehead against her bony knees, and releases a muffled scream against the off-white paper in her hands. Tears pitter-patter against the parchment, creating dark rivulets that flow over the edge, and she thinks about how this is all so familiar.