Chapter Text
april 20th, 1803
today, i am going to die.
my name is charles grover. i am an officer of the 14th regiment, the west yorkshire foot regiment. i am eighteen years old. it is cold. i miss my home.
today, all 37 of us have landed in leipzig, a cold town in saxony. i am thinking of my brother in blood, francis, who dreamed of seeing the fields and forests where our mission takes place today. four months ago, he was viciously attacked by the red eyes, and turned into one of them. i had to kill him myself, lest he eat me and turn me into one of his own. i can still see the glimmer in his eyes, the last hope before death, as if begging not to kill me.
father gillmore knows that is not true. the church has been my rock these past few months, guiding me through the fighting and ill fated missions. god has chosen me to become the antithesis to the blight, and i accept, albeit not without hesitation.
today is my cousin's birthday. he turns 12 today. i love you, lewis, and i hope your birthday goes as good as it can. i hope you get your bicycle you wanted, i hope you can walk the streets of yorkshire without fearing for your life, and i hope you have a warm, loving bed to sleep in this spring evening. i am thinking of you, even miles away.
i did not want to go to war. i was always a pacifist, blood making me sick to my stomach. but, at the request of my parents and spiritual guides, they told me it would be best if i defended our honor.
the picture of them i carried in my shirt pocket has long been destroyed. stained in blood, ripped apart by dirt and water, the memory of the faces of my family members is fading from me slowly. i write this as someone who is doubtful. doubtful of myself, my faith, my place in this world, in this battle, in the grand scheme of things.
i doubt if there is a god sometimes. father gillmore knows my doubt, and tries to reassure me, teach me spiritually, but i know it is in vain. if there was a god, and if i truly was worthy of his love, he would have saved me by now.
sometimes, in the rain, i dig a small hole in the ground. i fill it up with seeds and grass, and cover it up with dirt. and i plant a flower beside it. in the mud beside, i shakily write 'francis'. he would want me to carry on, but without him, days fade into nothing. even if i got to go home, what would the purpose be if i lost the only soul who understood me? i shake the thought away, continuing to nurture the makeshift grave, knowing it will be washed away in a week's rain. it means something to me, knowing he's following me.
sometimes it feels as if he is with me. he loved to climb trees, and sometimes the sharp sides of trees seem to dissipate near me, as if beckoning me to climb them again, where other soldiers get pricked by those same trees. sometimes my bed is warmer than others, as if he is sending me his love from heavens above.
the idea of him being around me, all encompassing, is more comforting than any god. if i can have anything, i want him back.
tonight, francis, the stars are shining beautifully. it's raining, i remember you always loved the deluges. our camp is in town, on the north side, and there's a beautiful field of flowers nearby. i picked some, and i hope to take them back to your grave in san sebastian soon. where i properly buried you. i will nurture and care for them as you have taught me, and share the love you shared with me to everyone i see. it is what you would have wanted from me, is it not?
tomorrow we leave for copenhagen. i will update you when we arrive, as i know you are watching from above, brother. for now, i am tired, so i must rest.
i hope you will forgive me for drawing the blade. i hope my life can measure up to what you've done for me.
i hope some day, i can wish on a star to bring you home to me. back again, in my arms. i can cry, and weep, and thank the stars that my brother is back with me, in my arms.
but i know that will never happen. you're gone, aren't you? even watching me live my life, i can never hold you again. it haunts me. sometimes i still see your figure, hear your voice, and... i wish you were still here.
that is all i want.
i miss you, i love you, please come back. if this is some joke, some cruel dream, wake me up from it, now.
i miss you, francis.
goodnight. i will see you soon.