CHAPTER SONG: "If I Never Knew You" by Jon Secada & Shanice (from Disney's "Pocahontas"), lyrics by Alan Menken and Stephen Schwartz

Hours ticked by at a torturously long pace, transforming into days… then weeks.

For both Lieutenant Joseph Blake and self-sufficient Margaret Satterthwaite, nee' Schofield, time passed by for them too fast and too slow.

They wondered when or if Joe's letter to Will would reach him soon. With the chaotic mailing system due to the war, there was the chance of the Lance Corporal never receiving it.

Every moment was routine with their caring for Emmanuelle, trapped in the mental abyss of the Sleeping Death. She was kept in Catherine Blake's old room.

Either Joe or Molly would feed her warm broth thrice a day since she would be able to easily swallow the sustenance while unconscious. Although he tried not to allow the grief to overcome him, he was reminded of his mother's last days when she became weaker and physically dependent on him to feed and bathe her when she was unable to do either herself.

And as dire as the situation seemed, Joseph had a motive to keep living after being sent home with his dignity intact, even receiving a posthumous medal for Tom's rescuing of Will on their journey to save his unit from a pointless deadly ambush on the enemy. But even all the ribbons and commendations in the world meant nothing to him with the girl he loved fighting for her life in whatever oblivion were entrapping her.

On the bedside table, he placed a framed picture of his deceased brother and his ribbon, in hopes that they would provide strength for Emmy at least.

Each day, Molly would bathe her, either in the bathtub when Joe was available to carry her to the washroom, or upon the bed with warm water and a soapy sponge, as well as detangle her voluminous hair with the brush Will had gifted to her; her hair that had been restored to her trademark chocolate of delectability, a liquid waterfall of fairytale cosmetic magnificence, which provided a small sense of optimism for the distraught Englishwoman.

And Joe would switch out the candle waxes after they melted; keeping new incense sticks alight for Emmy all around her during the evening and night, not wanting her to lay in complete gloom and shadows. He would cut out fresh flowers from the garden of every variety, placing them against the wall adjacent to the bed to beautify her resting place.

With the season of late summer alternating into early autumn and the month of September switching into October, the floral decoration would be changed, bringing color and glory to be her companions as she lay in sweet, ageless repose.

But no matter the measure of beauty from the flowers he picked, all of them stood as wilted weeds compared to her natural loveliness, even with the fog of sleep clouding her blushing pink cheeks and glistening crimson lips.

Ruby chrysanthemums, magenta dahlias, golden pansies, periwinkle hydrangeas…

And always a blood-red rose lying on her lap, the thorns cautiously removed from the stem, tangled in her delicate fingers.

Every week, Cici and Elle would braid different flowers in her hair. Her curling, chocolate tendrils grew longer than they had ever been her entire life, flowing past her bosom almost to her waist and spilling over the pillows cushioning her head.

To spare the flowers of Joseph's garden, the girls would use some samples either from their own at home or from the village flower stand.

One week, Emmy's Rapunzel-length hair would be weaved with purple violas, the next would be white Japanese anemones, and then blooming burgundy snapdragons and accompanying petals sprinkled along her body to further add to her motionless splendor…

The day seemed to never come for everyone involved taking care of their beloved friend… awaiting each hour for news of William Schofield's wellbeing and status of his possible return home.

Just when Joe and Molly seemed about to collapse from exhaustion and trying to keep a hopeful façade for the children's sake, a phone call came for the Schofield household, via their newly mounted telephone. Despite the difficulty of installing such a device, Molly knew she would need the quickest method of communication especially should anything happen to her brother and Emmanuelle or her girls…

On November 1st , Molly received a phone call from the War Office in London. At the man's words, whom she had admittedly forgotten the name of, elation spread through her as she held the receiver in her shaking hand, and sank down to perch herself at the bottom of the stairs, thankful she was alone in her house. Little puppy Bucky whined as he snuggled to her side, sensing her heightened emotions.

Will was on the train to Waterloo station where they always met whenever he would come home from France for the last three years.

As soon as she hanged up on the call, she next reached out to Joe, letting him know of the news and to prepare for Will to arrive straight to the house.

Knowing her brother's deep, irrevocable love for Emmanuelle Julia Hunterson, he would want to be by her side as soon as humanly possible and he had no doubt received the letter from Joe informing him about her "sleeping death" comatose condition.

Her hair was nearly loosened from her pins keeping her brunette hair intact upon her head, she was in such a hurry as she raced from the house, seeing as the girls wouldn't be freed from school for another several hours, the call coming in mid-morning.

Everything was a blur for Molly, not even noticing the people around her giving strange, taken aback glances at her frazzled state. She didn't even remember boarding the train from the village station and arriving at Waterloo.

All she cared about was seeing her little brother again and bringing him back to his family and the woman he loved.

She searched through the chaotic crowd for his youthful, yet haggard face. The war seemed to age him an extra ten years instead of three, but some of that boyish disposition had been revived within him by the petite American girl who had accompanied him last from France and stolen his pure, untainted heart.

Molly's perceptive eyesight scanned through all passing faces of uniformed soldiers stepping off the train, some in parade caps, others with bandages covering their heads or faces. She wrung her hands together, keeping her focus on finding Will.

At last, through the sea of wounded and gaunt men, she saw the sky-blue eyes of her brother and she broke into a sprint like she was a little girl again, hardy and free like she had been before her mother died… before she had to grow up and take up the duties of a mother. Her lively legs carried her through the crowd, taking herself closer to Will, her eyes meeting his own through their silent connection as siblings.

"Will!" Molly called for him, her arms reaching to hold him close in relief that he had arrived home safely.

In less than a second, she was swept off the ground, her feet dangling several inches off the platform concrete as Will held her tightly with little effort. His parade hat almost flew off his head and the breath knocked out of his lungs as Will caught Molly against him, barely hearing the buzzing of other people's voices around them. Her arms were around his neck as she relished the strength of her brother and he kept her as close as possible to him, like she was anchoring him from floating away off the face of the earth; how easy it was to forget his being ten years younger than her as she always felt safe and calmed in his presence and how relieved she was at his returning home safely once again.

But alas, there was no joyous occasion to celebrate his homecoming this time…

Molly released a sob as she inhaled the soothing aroma of pinewood and tobacco ash on his uniform as he gently set her back upon her feet. She looked up at his wearied face, seeing the bags of fatigue and stress under his eyes. Thankfully, there were no visible wounds on his face or neck that she could see.

She reached up and smoothed out the wavy brown hair sticking to his forehead as she removed his askew hat, keeping the headwear underneath her arm as they conveyed so much to each other without the use of actual verbal words.

A melancholic smile graced Will's chapped lips as he placed a gentle kiss on Molly's forehead as she placed her hand consolingly on his cheek.

She opened her mouth to speak, her tongue struggling to form the words as her throat dried up.

Sensing her temporary laryngitis, Will only spoke the necessary words to communicate the urgency with which he needed to get them both back to Surrey. His eyes shone with unshed tears as he placed a hand gently on Molly's shoulder to comfort her as well.

"Take me to Emmy."

Although they both had half a mind to stop by their house to allow Will to bathe and change out of his uniform, he was insistent on seeing his beloved first with his own eyes, to see if she was really under the influence of this malevolent "sleeping death" spell...

As soon as the train returned with them to the Surrey station, brother and sister broke into a run through the streets, thankful that the lunchtime crowd had passed already so as not to be delayed in getting to the Blake residence.

Molly was grateful her legs had the durability to run so long thanks to her active childhood and teenage years exercising with chasing little Will around to prevent him from getting into mischief.

Her lungs were on fire as they arrived at the fence of the Blake property, Will pushing the gate open as Myrtle met them on the porch, barking as she recognized the familiar scents of her owner's friends. They patted the Labrador quickly on the head to greet her as they all went inside the house through the unlocked door.

Molly clutched onto Will's arm as they silently walked up the stairs, each step of the aging wood creaking under their combined weight. The vigilant Englishwoman noticed as Will's jaw clenched into a sharp angle, his lips setting into a firm line as a tear trickled down his slightly hollowed cheekbone.

She wondered when the last time since he ate a full meal had been.

But she knew he wouldn't want to worry about himself yet until he saw his sweetheart for the first time since she had been spirited away right under their noses.

And in true flesh and blood form rather than in his haunted dreams of fantastical delusion.

Brother and sister made it to the top of the staircase, listening out for Joseph, who they both had yet to see since arriving.

The door to Catherine Blake's former bedroom opened and out stepped somnolent, unshaven Joe, his stark raven hair awry, a few stray curls sticking to his perspired forehead and slightly growing out beyond the acceptable haircut for a clean, polished soldier, as Will deduced he had been here at home for months as most. His matching ebony beard outlined his jaw and extended to his sideburns sprouting near his temples.

The lieutenant quickly shut the door before Molly or Will could see anything inside, gripping a bowl and spoon as he saw the both of them hand in hand. He stopped in his tracks as he locked eyes with Will and his heart sank to his stomach as he reached out with his free hand and both soldiers met with a platonic handshake of greeting acknowledgement.

"Hello, Will. Molly." He nodded politely to both of them, his eyes not leaving the corporal's as he tried to keep his voice steady. "I'm glad you received my letter and made it back here."

"And you as well, Joe." Will reciprocated, his voice beginning to waver as he gulped back a lump forming in his throat and he gently freed his hands from both his friend's and his sister's grasp. As somewhat rude and abrupt as it appeared with him just arriving back, he had to know now. "Is… is she in there still?"

"Yes… I've just fed her for the afternoon. To keep her nourished whilst she's unable to eat for herself." Joe looked down forlornly to the dishware in his trembling hands.

Will absorbed what his army comrade was explaining to him, feeling Molly's hand on his shoulder as he tried to keep himself composed in front of everyone. On one hand, he was exuberantly grateful to Joseph for tending to their girl in his absence. On the other, the woman whom both of them loved lay closer to death's door with each day passing that she didn't awaken…

Just the fact that she was literally unable to feed herself under this damned, wretched enchantment made him want to strike the nearest hard surface until his knuckles bled. But such futile violence wouldn't resuscitate her.

The lance corporal shrugged his pack of belongings off his shoulder, allowing Molly to take it into her hands for him. She could sense her brother being at his wit's end with each second he wasn't in that room with Emmy, and he was quick to speak before he collapsed in front of the bedroom door.

"I need to see her for myself… please. I need to feel her, hold her." Will's broken voice shattered Joe's heart to pieces, knowing the ebony-haired man couldn't physically ban his fellow soldier from Emmanuelle for long if he valued not having a bloody nose or broken tooth.

Neither Joe nor Molly found words to say in response, hearing Will's desperate plea for access to the bedroom. All he wanted was to be by Emmy's side.

And Joe wasn't so black-hearted as to deny him that… He may have loved Emmy himself unrequitedly, but he wouldn't be selfish so to keep his late brother's mission partner from her.

With a silent nod to the tired corporal, he turned the knob on the door and stepped aside, allowing Will to walk across the threshold. The younger soldier softly closed the door behind him, listening to both Molly and Joe's careful footsteps as they went downstairs to give him privacy.

As Will shut the door and clicked the knob securely, he found himself inhaling the overwhelming perfume of numerous different flowers, almost making him sneeze as he turned around and took in the beautifully somber sight before him in the center of the room, illuminated by faint rays of sunlight released from the grey clouds forming outside.

A low rumble of thunder vibrated through the house as the air was sucked out of the room and from Will's aching lungs as he saw the pale, motionless body on the bed, flanked on both sides of the mattress by unlit candles and wall to wall by vases and piles of flowers.

His normally stately voice emitted a childlike whimper like he was a little boy again, caught in an inescapable nightmare despite the gorgeous meadow-like environment of the room. His knees buckled as his legs felt weighted like lead, and his upper body became numb as he tried to keep from falling to the floor in pathetic misery at the image before him.

With every step he took closer to the bed, his vision turned red with anger and denial; his heart crumbling within his ribcage into a pile of powdered ashes.

Agony greater than any wound he had suffered in his lifetime, before or during the war boiled over in his chest like lava overflowing in an erupting volcano.

The barbed wire slicing his hand, the rubble in the German bunker almost crushing him, his concussion from the sniper incident in Ecoust… Any injury he sustained in the trenches were pleasant memories compared to the anguish William Schofield felt in that modest bedroom of the Blake household.

There lay his beloved Emmanuelle Julia Hunterson, ethereal and peaceful amidst the ivory blankets and pillows and cushions to ensure her security and comfort, clad in the purest white dress of heaven as though she had been clothed and cleansed in an angel's bath from above.

His twenty-first century magical girl, lying before him still as death, the motion of her stomach as she breathed hardly noticeable unless one looked closely…

Her paled, colorless face nearly blended into the white pillows she lay upon, no sign of the striking crimson blush in her cheeks or her cherry-red lips that signified the hot-blooded temper and vivacity she possessed; her fire igniting his heart and setting him aflame from the moment they met, welding them together in love.

Her dark chocolate curls of brunette glory spread around her head in exquisitely chaotic waves on the pillows propping her up, violet freesias woven and braided with shimmering blue ribbons into her extensive tendrils swirling and cascading past her shoulders and bosom down to her waist.

His trembling hand reached out as though to touch her silken, lengthened wonder of hair… his fingers twitched with his need to feel any part of her.

Will shook his head as he dropped heavily to his knees next to her bedside, like a child wanting to not believe in something right before his eyes.

Whenever Emmy slept before, she breathed steadily and calm, sometimes rolling over and tangling herself up in the sheets in a restless fit as she dreamt. It was endearing for him to witness and he would smile in pensive adoration at her behavior as he had stayed guard beside her in Joseph's encampment so long ago in Flanders.

And whenever she had her instances of fainting in shock or exhaustion or even illness before, she always opened her eyes, gracing his sight with her evergreen irises sparkling with brilliance and gumption, breathing life back into her essence.

She always awakened…

Will's dismay and internal fury buried the figurative dust particles of his heart like quicksand as he tenderly pulled the scarlet rose out of her small hands placed on her abdomen, laying the delicate bloom carefully by her side so as not to damage its petals. The rest of her body was decorated with numerous other flower petals of pink blossom, sprinkled like confetti along her chest and stomach and legs…

His massive hands held one of hers as he sat himself on the bed's edge, his darkened shadow looming over her graceful glow of serenity, only adding to the foreboding aura of the room sheltering her. He pulled her scarred hand up to his face and cradled her palm to his own cheek, needing to sense the warmth of her veins and smooth translucency of her flawless skin.

Her temperature was mild at most; a lifeless cool sensation of her touch might as well have been ice as her fingertips caught his tears.

Emmy's bare ring finger burned his flesh with the loss of the promise ring he had given her, to bind themselves to each other in faithfulness and a vow of reunion upon her return to 1917 and his coming back from the trenches once more.

But what did a mere improvised trinket matter when her life hanged in the balance?

How terribly he wanted this to be just a more vivid version of his nightmares, his inner demons mocking him with this cruel illusion. Like whenever he had a bad dream as a boy, he would crawl under his blankets, feeling hidden and safe.

He prayed with all his might and diminishing conviction as he cradled her hands in his, stroking her thin knuckles with his thumbs… had her hands always been so tiny? He begged to whatever deity was listening that this wasn't reality.

Just like in the dream he'd had about confronting Erik all those weeks ago. She would stir her body around some and her eyes would open as her strength to move returned, slowly but surely. And she would inhale a deep breath of revival and he would not waste another moment with her as long as he lived from that day onward…

But, this was no fictional fairytale or fable…

There was no magic or incantation from a mythical conjuring that would save her.

He brought her hands one at a time to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on every one of her small fingers. Will had missed the feel of her hands holding him and touching him, those beautiful hands that had pulled him from the river in Ecoust when he had been on the verge of drowning.

His own stunning mermaid in human form…

Silent tears still streamed down his cheeks as he pulled his Saint Christopher medallion from around his neck under his tunic, unlatching the clasp of the chain with a quick yank that would surely leave an imprinted mark on his skin. Placing Emmy's hands carefully back on her lap, Will interwove the chain around her fingers to keep the pendent in her grasp.

He kissed both her scarred fingers, her pinky and ring finger, and a broken sob erupted from his throat despite his efforts to keep his weaker emotions in check.

If she couldn't move or open her eyes, could she hear him? He would hear her speak forever if it cost him his own tongue. The only thing he could think of to do in the moment to destroy the suffocating silence was talk to her.

He held both of her hands in his own scarred palm and long fingers, and his other hand reached out to caress her pale cheek with his fingertips, his thumb tracing along her closed, frowning lips, still lovely in their rosebud blooming suppleness.

Will said everything that came to his mind in that moment, no matter how impractical or overly sentimental his words sounded. His voice quiet, yet heavy with sadness as he hoped and pleaded that she could hear him, every word from his mouth saturated in each syllable with love…

He couldn't help but imagine her floating in her dreams, lying on a soft cloud of bliss and safety in sweet slumber…

"My darling love… my strong, beautiful Emmanuelle Julia… Please wake up, I beg of you. I will grovel at your feet and forsake all the teachings of my whole life if it would see your eyes open again. If you wish it, I'll build you a house with my own two hands, from the foundation upwards. Every wood paneling and placement of brick will be structured with you in my mind; to shelter you from the freezing winters and heated summers. And every room filled with all the books you could ever read; your own library at your disposal. I'll fill it with everything possible that will bring you happiness and comfort."

A heavier sob shattered his esophagus as his grieving for her became too much of a weight to bear on his shoulders, crushing him internally in misery. His next words were barely comprehensible even to his own ears as he whimpered in a raw instance of crying, his usually stoic features distorting into an external display of his mourning the woman he loved so devotedly. His entire frame shook with convulsing weeps.

"Emmy… don't leave me again. You are all the good I find in myself… you are my future borne by the angels in Heaven."

His aching arms could take the torment no longer. Will needed to hold her within them, feel her against his body. He tenderly removed the sheets from over her stomach and legs, noting how she had lost significant weight in her thighs and calves…

His heart broke that she was unable to gain proper nutrition in her body and was so painfully malnourished when he had seen her eat just as much as any full grown man and how it amused him to see her so unashamedly ravenous.

Will slid his arms under her knees and the middle of her back, lifting her slightly off the mattress as he slowly turned around and sat on the bed's edge. He cradled Emmy close as possible whilst being so gentle, perching her in his lap as he held her to his chest, one half of her face against his heartbeat. His sobs continued as his tears shimmered in her flowing hair, the smell of the freesias in her locks doing nothing to soothe him.

His marked palm stroked her thin cheek as he noted the slight hollow bone structure beneath her fair skin. Her legs were emaciated as they draped across his thighs, her white cotton stockings hung off her calves like laundry dangling from a clothesline. As if this spell keeping her comatose was sucking the life out of her, including the loss of her voluptuously alluring curves where she had been healthily slender before…

What could he do if not talk more to her? What more of his love could he give her and keep himself from losing his mind to grief and the prospect of losing her forever?

He could talk, scream, cry, pray, beg… but there was one more thing he could do to let her know that he was here, holding and bereaving the girl while her veins still carried the frenzied temper and stubborn disposition of Emmy's that inspired him to do anything she wanted him to, bring a laugh to her lips and a smile to her face.

And so, he sang to her… his voice a husk of his usually dignified pitch from his sobbing, but he just wanted to serenade his beloved, however foolish and juvenile as it seemed in the moment. His fingers caressed her gorgeous chestnut curls, trying not to pull on the beauteous flowers in her tresses…

Despite the rough quality of his voice, the lyrics he sang to her streamed a river of the purest music through her ears.

"If I never knew you,

If I never felt this love,

I would having no inkling of,

How precious life can be…"

Will's trembling arms rocked Emmy back and forth, encompassing her in a safeguarding embrace as his dehydrated lips repeatedly brushed her smooth forehead, her shrinking violet eyelids, both of her thin cheeks, every kiss given in between verses of the song. Everywhere but her lips, he tenderly planted a kiss upon her, not feeling he could bear the cold lifeless touch of her mouth not responding to him.

"And if I never held you,

I would never have a clue

How at last I'd find in you,

The missing part of me"

The corporal's throat was tormented with the dry heaving resulting from his crying over Emmy, his tear ducts unable to produce anymore water down his face. But Will failed to care as he continued the lullaby for her.

"In this world so full of fear,

Full of rage and lies

I can see the truth so clear

In your eyes…"

He carefully stood from the bed with Emmy still cradled in his arms, his nose buried in her ribbon-tied strands and the blooms decorating her hair as he kissed the top of her head. Will delicately laid her back in the exact middle of the mattress where she had been impeccably placed before, laying her down with the attentive care of a parent setting an infant into a crib, his hands cupping the back of her neck and head to situate her as comfortably on the pillows as possible.

Will arranged her silken hair around her head on the pillowcases, her splendor entrancing him as he struggled to finish the song, placing her hands back upon her stomach. His shaking fingers found the buried rose amongst the sheets and he set the flower back in her fingers, entangled into the chain of his St Christopher medallion; his lips pressed one more kiss to her disfigured ring finger and pinky.

Despite his now bloodshot eyes stinging with nonexistent tears, Will pulled the ivory linen sheets up to her bosom, leaving the thick coverlet folded below her interlinked hands at her waist to keep Emmy warm without overheating her.

"I thought our love would be so beautiful,

Somehow we'd make the whole world bright,

I never knew that fear and hate could be so strong

All they'd leave us were these whispers in the night…"

Will looked her over, scanning every inch of his love to make sure not a curl of her hair was out of place and that she was able to rest without possibly slipping off the propped pillows cushioning her.

He thought of all the excuses in the world to stay by her side without leaving, but he knew such a thing was impossible. Approaching footsteps alerted him to either Joe or Molly coming to fetch him.

As much as Will loathed the idea of leaving Emmanuelle's side while she was so vulnerable, he had to be at his strongest for her if he were to be of any help in tending to her.

And he had to hold Cici and Elle once they were released from school. Those girls always brought joy into his heart with their precocious innocence…

He needed to go home to properly rest, unpack, eat and wash up, and then he would return to keep faithful vigil at his sweetheart's side.

As he heard the bedroom door behind him, Will bent down to kiss her forehead again, his soft reassuring whisper fanning her closed lips. "I won't be gone long, my love. I'll return soon to watch over you. All will be well again, my dreaming angel. You'll open those beautiful eyes of yours to a new life with all of us here who love and cherish you so."

With one more caress to Emmy's hollowed cheek, Will forced himself to turn his eyes away from her. His body felt stiff and exhausted after sitting for so long as he stretched out his legs and arms. He was greeted by the sight of an equally tired Joseph, a glass of water in his hand, and their gaze briefly met as they nodded to one another in mutual acknowledgement, saying so much without speaking.

As the corporal passed the disheveled lieutenant, leaving the room to meet Molly downstairs, Will caught the faintest shine of pink in the whites of Joseph's cerulean eyes.

And from that one split second glance at the older raven-haired man, Will could definitely decipher that he too had been weeping just moments prior in remorse for Emmanuelle. He hoped as Joseph had listened in on his departing words to her that the lieutenant knew himself to be included amidst those who would always love and cherish her…

.

.

It was Cecelia and Giselle's illuminating idea for their Auntie Emmy to have a bed carved for her. A "princess bed" as they called it, for the slumbering woman to lay in outside so she would receive fresher air. And to accommodate for the cooling autumn temperature, a canopy was to be structured underneath the orchard trees to shield her from wind and precipitation.

From William Schofield's second day back home, he got to work using his carpentry skills from his previous employment in carving wooden furniture. Not only was it a distraction from his mourning whenever he wasn't sitting at Emmy's side, the hands-on activity and labor, even the splintering pain to his palms, served as a welcome distraction from his anguish and lamenting over his Emmy.

While he didn't have the resources to build her a strong house like he had tearfully promised her, a sturdy bed-frame would do for a start. Every afternoon, whenever Molly or Joseph would take their turn in sitting with Emmy, Will was gathering tools and other materials to construct such a decorative furnishing for her.

And Joe took it upon himself to set up the canopy. The sheltering canvas he propped up with the strongest stakes that he hammered in the ground underneath the largest tree in the orchard where most of the blossoms would snow down from above.

The canopy itself was shaped into a tent, which would cover the bed from all four sides, with a sealable flap door for entrance, materialized from ivory lace veiling gauze to allow visual of Emmy while also shielding her from the elements.

And both men took out their frustrations on their manual tasks, working their fingers to the bone until everything was perfect for their girl battling mentally for her life, Joe assisting Will with finishing the bed frame since the canopy didn't take as much time to complete.

The twin-sized mattress, not as wide in diameter as the late Mrs. Blake's bed, was stuffed with down-feathers to ensure the softest quality for Emmy to lay upon and prevent discomfort. The sheets were cloud white with 900-thread count, imported from the finest department stores in London, along with matching pillows to cushion Emmy's frail body, emphasized by her malnutrition.

The bed-frame itself, carved from the finest mahogany wood and assembled down to its base with every ounce of love and dedication William and Joseph had for Emmy. The headboard where the pillows leaned on had etched shapes of various objects in kaleidoscopic symmetry on each side representing the woman herself. Things that represented aspects they both loved about her:

Angel wings for her unconditional compassion, blooming roses for her understated beauty, open page books for her literary intelligence, hearts set on fire for her passionate temper and so forth…

Everything was completed for her just in time for the first snowfall of the approaching winter.

The most outstanding facet of the bed's design was at the side base, alongside its bottom length below the mattress. The two soldiers worked to add a description of the woman in the bed, like she originated from the illustrations of a storybook. An epitaph composed in her name without actually placing her in the ground beneath a marble tombstone and a pile of larva infested dirt…

La Belle Emmanuelle: The Sleeping Angel