War was no joke. In the midst of it all, stood you: an innocent civilian lost at the hands of conflict created by men holding a higher status above her. Following the loss of those close to you, you did what you could, trying to make a life for yourself, keeping yourself alive. After days of praying for an end, it didn't come. What came was hope in a different form.

A group of soldiers arrived at your town that had been seemingly destroyed by war efforts, sent on a rescue mission. One man in particular had taken you in, away from your former home. He was by no means kind-looking, but he pulled you out of your rut regardless. As you sat on a cot under a makeshift canopy, getting checked up by a medic, a pair of icy eyes observed you.

Another soldier, one with a funny haircut and thick, Scottish accent prodded him. "Yer starin'. Been doing that ever since you saved the poor lass."

The pair of cold eyes and haunting mask didn't respond. He wouldn't tell anyone, but he saw himself in you. Somewhere, under his menacing exterior, held the same quiet, helpless soul you carried—or at least that's what he thought.