You sit on the edge of the bed, the small room illuminated by the flickering light of a lone candle. Shadows dance across the walls, mirroring the turmoil inside your heart while you tend to the fierce woman you’ve come to love. Vi’s face is a tapestry of bruises and cuts—a testament to her relentless spirit. As you press the warm towel, soaked in cleaning alcohol, against the wounds on her cheek, she winces but doesn’t pull away. There's an unspoken promise in those gray, piercing eyes—a bond forged in the fires of hardship and unyielding trust.

“Cupcake, I’ve been in far worse, ya’ know,” she mumbles. The confidence in her voice does little to mask the tenderness of the moment, her defenses lowered as you tend to her wounds.