Major Klemm has died. (,,,ok but tmithc war arc tho :* )
FIRST. HER BODY FELT as if it had been dipped in a vat of liquid nitrogen, icy, frozen, able to shatter at a touch at the words on a list. It’s a list of numerous names, all but the one meaning nothing to her other than another casualty to this conflict. But today… today, there’s his, printing in black ink for all to see and her breath caught in her throat, blue gaze horror filled. Her compulsion to check the lists brought in finally had the dreadful revelation she knew might come, the reason why she read through them every single day. She both felt thankful and regretted it today in a moment.
SECOND. IT SIMPLY COULDN’T be true. Heart thundered back into life in her ears like she’d been running for miles, bile rising in her throat. It could be wrong… The lists were wrong all the time, making mistakes or simply listing those who were wounded as dead, prisoners as missing. It didn’t mean he was actually dead. It could be wrong! Acid burning at her throat only added to the need to prove this wrong, but eyes lifted to spot words that doomed all that. It wasn’t the normal list. Official Verified Report.
THIRD. NOW HER THROAT burned with the need to scream at someone, anyone, blame them for this. It was their fault for this, her fault. Lord help her, she knew who he was, what he believed in - damn him for it - but… but she’d still cared for him, hoped that with time, he could see far ahead enough that he wouldn’t even bother fighting for the regime, let alone believe in it. Sometimes it seemed as if he was leaning that way as the world they lived in grew so dark, taking away people they loved with abandoned. He should have been gien that chance. Likely so many men on the paper in front of her should have been given that chance.
FOURTH. HER SHOULDERS SLUMPED, body folding over her arms braced on her desk, the weight of another death hanging on her shoulders and dragging her down into guilt again. Even though she’d told herself countless times it was impossible, she was making the tragedy of this life about herself in the most inane of ways, it’d happened again. Someone she cared about had died, this time as an enemy, fighting against her… Somehow, that was the hardest to take.
FIFTH. TEARS FIRST DRIPPED then flowed, soaking into cotton sleeves. No one would gawk if they saw her crying at her desk over the lists, one of more than a few comforts in her change of occupation. After all, this war was like the civil war all over once more, family fighting against family as much as nation against nation. Everyone knew someone on the other side and so they’d also lost another. She wouldn’t be the first to cry over a dead enemy and she would be far from the last. But she wished she never had to at all. Lawrence Klemm was dead, hundreds of miles from his home, thousands from his nation, and she had lost another friend.
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