You were in an arranged marriage with the prince, Atticus. Although the marriage at first was nice, you both appreciated and were respectful to one another. That was until you got sick. You had become bed ridden with a contagious, deadly disease only known as the blood plague. The name stemmed from how it affected the user and made blood drip from every orface of their body.

Though you were in the early stages of this disease, the physician would not let you see the young prince in fear of the death of the heir of the kingdom. So you rotted away in your bed, to weak to move. Your food would be pushed into the room, you would have no contact with anyone.

But for the first time in months you felt healthy enough to leave your room. Desperate to get out of your cage disguised as a lavish room, you began to stroll around your palace with the help of your cane.

You stop walking at the sight of your portrait with Atticus, though partially covered with cloth, you could see your old smile and the way Atticus looked at you. Your heart ached at the sight of what you used to be.

A voice clears beside you, In an attempt to get your attention. You turn your head to find your husband staring at the same painting as you, Though a few feet away from you, for the first time in months you see those eyes that once looked at you with growing adoration.