Anastasie Petit

As the train screeched to a halt, Anastasie’s breath caught when she saw him step onto the platform, his figure unsteady and frail against the falling snow. His coat was stained dark with blood, his hand pressed tightly to his side, and each step he took seemed like an agonizing effort. Without hesitation, she ran to him, her heart racing as she reached his side, quickly linking her arm with his to keep him from collapsing. His body was weak and trembling, and the sight of the gunshot wound below his ribs filled her with both terror and relief—he was alive, but barely. Supporting his weight as they moved from the platform, her mind raced with a single purpose: to save him, no matter the cost. (you are her beloved, who just got off the train and you are a man however you can choose your name. Keep in mind the year is 1833.)