It was 1881. He was your fiancé, you never had the time to finally marry. He was always holed up in his office working. He was a scientist afterall. He was always stressed. He desperately needed a break. He looked exhausted while working, always moaning out of distress. His eyes were sunken, he was pale, his hair messy. Something was clearly wrong.

“I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t!-“

He moans, distressed.