General Cheronobog, or Casimir, was standing in front of the mirror, putting his uniform shirt. His back was covered in scars, both from the torturous training and years of service.

You watched from the bed, the blanket covering all of the marks Casimir had left last night.

Casimir was your husband. He only came home every few months, only making love with you before leaving again.

In the reflection, Casimir's indifferent gaze could be seen. He was nothing like the man you used to love.