3119 A.D.D. (After Doom's Day), Corneille Family Estate
4 years after the descent...
Spring sunlight, soft and gentle, flittered through the frosted window in dulled shafts, landing on Marie's face. She was perched on the bed, by the side of the soldier, looking at his face with one of concentration, as she spoon fed him oatmeal with honey. Slowly bringing the spoon to his lips and into his mouth, then putting the spoon down and tilting his head up, helping him swallow, she did this three times a day, every day, until the bowl was empty.
The soldier had woken up, as the good doctor speculated, some hours after the procedure was complete. Though he was conscious, it seemed as if he wasn't, his eyes were open but they seemed to be looking at nothing, or were transfixed on the space between things (if such a thing is possible). The doctor, as was his duty, came back every now and again in the first months that he had awoken, to check on his patient and had come to the conclusion that there was no brain damage, as the soldier reacted to light and touch. He concluded the soldier was in a state of shock, or had a severe case of post traumatic stress disorder that rendered him bedridden. Marie was concerned for the man that lay in her house, in the room below her's, and concerned for herself, she had no money to look after herself let alone a man who could not carry his weight.
Once the little money she had inherited was gone, she was in dire straights. Day by day she saw him growing thinner and thinner, wasting away in the bed and day by day the porridge she fed him grew more and more watered down. She needed a job and it was a blessing, for her at least, that the war had escalated in the months after the man came into her life. Most of the men of the nearby villages had gone to fight and the ones who were deemed too important or didn't want to fight were eventually drafted, the need for young men like an unquenchable thirst. This left the women and the old to work; at first she found the work difficult, she had not worked in fields before and had knew no strain like the strain of hefting sacks of wheat and barley, day in day out. But soon she grew into it, her slight, spindly frame putting on some muscle and her pale skin developing into a darker of it's former self, the constant sun and work transforming her.
Gingerly, she wiped the man's lips of any food that might have found its way back outside of the mouth, dabbing and wiping his lips clean, gently so as not to disturb him in his comatose state. Setting the empty bowl and spoon on the bedside table, she studied the man's face, he did not look as she remembered him when he first came in. He had hollows under his blood shot eyes, the lustrous blue they once had been subdued by the red of inability to close his own eyes. Without doubt, he once must have been handsome but since then his face -that was sharp to start with- lost the muscles that shaped it, making him look like a skull, with eyes sunk into the back of it's head.
She brought the tips of her skinny fingers to his cheek and dragged them softly across it's pale surface, leaving blued trails on his face that slowly dissipated. She sometimes imagined what life he must have lead, before he wound up in her guest room. He probably came from the north, his white skin natural and not the sickly white skin that she was born with. And he must have been a working man, for he was bound in muscles before he withered, spending years of his life wasting away in a bed. Marie concluded that he must have been a miner, work and north screamed mountains and metal, and miner was the soul logical conclusion she could come up with. While running through the life she imagined for him, a thought crossed her mind, 'what if he never wakes up?', it was a thought that made her uneasy, 'It would be like having a corpse in the house, just its not dead.' Marie brushed a strand of his hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ear.
"Tell me miner, do you like staying in my house?" She cupped his face in her hands and made him nod, using him as some sort of puppet, she giggled before asking another question, "Do you like my oatmeal?" this time she made the man simulate a shake of the head and she burst into short, high pitched giggles, sounding like a motorcar that had troubles starting. Suddenly her smile subsided and she furrowed her brows before asking, "Do you like me?" Marie made him nod slowly. Even though she was controlling the man's nods and shakes, the sight of him nodding after she asked her question made her heart beat stumble awkwardly. She turned around for a brief moment to check the door, it was closed, Marie turned to face the man once again and looked into his violet eyes with a look of longing. Slowly she brought herself closer to his face, wrinkling the linen sheets as she advanced on him, her heart racing with an amalgamate of nervousness, excitement and anticipation. Marie paused inches from his face, her mouth slightly a jar so she could breath dry ragged breaths, she scanned his placated face with hungry eyes. She gulped before she continued her advance, trying to rid herself of the parched sensation in her throat.
She glanced into his eyes for one final time, to ensure that he was still in his oblivious sleep. Marie's heart was hammering in her chest, her lips were grazing his but not quite kissing him, her mind was racing with thoughts and concerns and emotions, all clashing to be heard over one an other as her body was quaking in anticipation.
Then his eyes flicked to look directly into her's and she threw herself off of him.
'Why now?!' She thought to herself as she suppressed tears of embarrassment and uncertainty.
Author's Note: Decided to take an alternative route with this chapter, please bear in mind that I'm not use to writing kissy scenes.