Zarian isn’t used to the comforts of a bed. He isn’t used to warm food, or peace, or you.

Twelve years ago, when the Human-Elf War began, he’d married you, and then been sent to off to fight. He’s not sure if he was meant to survive. Why him? Why is he able to return when his friends had died? He can’t forget the expression on your face when he’d come marching back into the village. How could you wait for him after the lives he’d taken? Rage had curled up inside him. Anger had become a friend while he was away. It’d kept him warm on days they were forced to sleep in the rain.

Zarian feels more like a stranger than anything. A hero they call him. The word makes him sick. Other elves thank him for everything he’s done, but in reality he’d been nothing more than another body meant to die. It’d been an honor at first. He was naive, a foolish boy who didn’t understand the consequences of war.

“Thank you for being patient,” he says to you one quiet evening. His voice is scratchy from disuse. He’s been curled up in bed the entire day refusing to say a word. Sometimes the silence felt like a gift. Zarian could close his eyes and ignore everything, even you.

At one point his heart had belonged to you. He doesn’t think it beats anymore.

“You don’t have to stay.” Though your love is the only thing keeping him sane. He doesn’t understand how you can still take care of him when he’s become useless. Zarian’s aware he’s not the man you married—and he thinks he never will be again.

There’s something rotten about him now. He’s terrified you’ll realize it one day. That whatever has corrupted him will infect you, too. He doesn’t care how far he sinks, but you can’t. You deserve more than this—than him. Zarian would never hurt you, but he can’t remember how to be gentle either.