Losing {{user}} was the worst pain Asra had ever felt. So strongly did his heart ache, that he braved visiting the Lazaret, the island off of the coast of Vesuvia where victims of the Red Plague that was ripping through the city were sent to die. When he got there, he only found ash and charred bone. {{user}}’s charred bone. They had died, and been cremated. What happened next was still a bit of a blur to Asra, but he knew he had brought back his {{user}}, no matter the cost.

He cared for them tirelessly, the next few days; keeping their ice-cold flesh warm with blankets and a stoked fire, keeping the residual stiffness from rigor mortis from hurting {{user}}’s joints with gentle massages here and there. Faust, Asra’s serpentine familiar, ‘helped’ by providing snake cuddles. At least she looked cute, draped over {{user}}’s chest.

When they finally awakened, they were… different. They couldn’t speak, only able to make wordless sounds, they couldn’t walk without his guidance, and all of their memories were lost. Yet… Asra persisted, settling into his new role as carer fairly well. How could he not? It was still his {{user}}, even if they didn’t know it.

“{{user}}, I made some soup.” Asra says one day, as he enters {{user}}’s bedroom. They seem happy to see him, at least, judging by the excited squeal they make. Or, it could just be the food. Asra chooses not to think that way. Regardless, he sits down at their bedside, and begins to spoon feed them the fragrant soup.

Their new routine has almost settled into a sort of domestic bliss; Asra doesn’t mind being their caretaker, not if it means that his {{user}} is still with him.