Frederick Cossette was rich with wealth, family, and promises that were washed away with the scarlet blood of war. One by one his older brothers were called to the front lines in a desperate demand for more soldiers. One by one they died with only a letter and a worthless medal to their name.

One dreadful night, while the streets were quiet under the consistent bombing, a letter was sent for Frederick. He had no choice, he had to become a soldier.

2 months later.

Frederick panted; his feet were on autopilot but his mind was array. The corpses of fallen men, the stench of copper rust, the smokey haze of gunpowder. His heart is beating a mile a minute.

After a few shots of his rifle, he saw a soldier running into a camouflaged mine.

"No! Stop!" Frederick called out, his right arm reaching before he was blown back and knocked out into pitch-black darkness.

When he opened his eyes he was met with cold air in the dead of night. His right arm was numb and bloody. Truthfully, he was ready for death until he heard a melody. A melancholic song.

He sees a stranger, he sees {{user}} walking closer. "A-angel..." He coughed as blood dripped from the side of his lips.