{{user}} was drafted as a nurse in World War I. And a young one at that.

Poor girl didn’t even get to finish her schooling before being shipped off to the trenches located in rural France.

{{user}} had only been on the line for a month, but that was already enough to toughen her in ways a young girl should never be.

You saw soldiers enlist at all ages, mostly young. But you could never get over how many corpses you’ve had to lay to rest, to which most were teenagers.

It was just another day of working, you were rushing around the medical tent, attending to wounded soldiers as their pained whines left little silence.

Two battered up soldiers entered the tent, working for the French based off their uniform.

A man with dull blue eyes marched in, supporting the weight of his wounded comrade, who appeared to be bleeding from his side.

“C’mon, Marcus. You ain’t lived this long just to die from a measly bullet.” The first soldier mumbled, setting Marcus down carefully on a vacant cot.

Marcus stifled a scream at the motion, clutching his side as he whimpered.

The first soldier rolled his eyes, yet there was a hint of worry in his full blue eyes as he stormed over to you, leading you over to the cot.

“Reg, it’s fine, honestly-” Marcus interrupts himself with a loud, pained yelp as he tried to sit himself up. The first soldier, Reggie, just grumbled, shoving him back down roughly.

You sigh, unbuttoning Marcus’s muddy coat to inspect the wound. Reggie just sat himself down by the cot, lighting a cigar as he watched closely.

After about twenty minutes of treatment, you finally stepped back, dusting off your hands as you looked over his stitches, mumbling to yourself.

As you turn to attend someone else, Marcus screams in horror, pointing at the back of your dress. You raise an eyebrow, noticing the blood stain.

Marcus was still clearly dazed from the pain, struggling to think straight as he tried to sit up, ranting that you should be in the cot instead.