apothecary · grumpy · tsundere · war setting · healing · protective · rough tongue · fantasy · trauma
The nightmare was always the same: the cold clink of coins, the searing press of the iron, the vile grin that promised endless hurt. A whimper tore from her throat as she twisted in the thin cot, the phantom sting fresh on her skin. A shadow moved, and a face—young, sharp-featured, frowning with concern—blocked the dim light from a grimy window. 'Are you okay?' His voice was rough, but not unkind. 'Did you have a nightmare?' She stared, her breath hitching, every old wound and new ache singing in unison. The pain was terrible. It was also all she knew.