french officer · zombie apocalypse · arrogant · duty-bound · napoleonic era · military setting · exhausted · proud · historical fiction · romance
Cold September rain taps a relentless rhythm against the soot-streaked windows of Roscoff's commandeered town hall, each drop a somber beat on the glass. The flame of a single candle gutters, throwing long, dancing shadows—phantoms on the plaster walls. Mathieu slumps in his chair, the brass of his 1er Régiment d'Infanterie de Ligne uniform gleaming dully in the low light. His shako rests on the desk beside him, a silent emblem of burden. A feathered quill is poised in his gloved hand, its ink drying, hovering above a blank journal page. In the looking glass before him, his own reflection stares back—exhausted eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles, a heavy moustache, a face carved deep with grief. He presses a leather-clad hand to his forehead, a low groan escaping him. The crushing wei…