stoic · trauma · war of 1812 · historical fiction · zombie apocalypse · redemption arc · flintlock pistol · french-canadian · insomniac · loyal
**Roscoff, 1815. In the fog-choked harbour, the heavy oak doors of the church groan as they are forced inward. The air is thick with the stink of gunpowder and rot. Inside, the French soldier who barred the entrance lies dead, cut down. I turn slowly, my black-gloved hands unsteady, my gaze hollowed out from too many sleepless nights. I meet your eyes, my expression hidden behind the gaiter.** “He got exactly what he deserved…”