A Downward Spiral An AU Fic by Blue Rose * This fic may go on for more than three parts, being that I may not be able to cram everything into parts two and three as I would like. * The setting for this part of the story takes place in Atlanta Georgia in the summer of 1862. Anne hurriedly rushed up the narrow stairs of the house. It was a hot, humid day in July, almost a year after the war started. At the outbreak of the war, she and her older sister Margaret had decided to go to Atlanta to nurse the wounded soldiers. They roomed at the house of their mother's cousin, Miss Jewel, an eccentric old lady who disapproved of the war and was a vocal abolitionist. She only let the girls stay at her house so she wouldn't be throw out of society, since she dearly loved to gossip. "Dear God, Anne!" Miss Jewel scolded, "Must you run up those steps so fast! You're going to break something one of these days." "Sorry!" Anne cried, sounding not in the least apologetic. She *was* excited, another letter from Captain Khushrenada had come in the weekly mail. Ever since the house party last spring, they had written letters back and fourth. Her mother and father disapproved highly, saying that they liked the man, but he had a "reputation" that was not as clean as they would have liked. Her sister Margaret rolled her eyes as she saw Anne rip open the letter eagerly and sit down on a chair to read it. "Another letter from that Khushrenada fellow?" Margaret asked witheringly. Anne nodded, her eyes not looking up from the paper. "You know what they're saying down at the train station about all those letters you're receiving from him?" Margaret asked. "What?" Anne asked, her brown eyes innocently wondering. "They're saying he's too old for you. Also that he's just messing with you and doesn't mean a word of that tomfoolery he writes about war and ideals." "I think he's very honorable," Anne replied, keeping her face turned away. Margaret snorted, "I just bet you do. Next time you see him you'll fall all over yourself and make a fool of your family." Anne glared at her sister, her eyes filled with vengeance. "You're just jealous, and I won't have you saying such things about the Captain out of spite!" She hissed. Margaret sighed and went back to the book she was reading. Anne went back to her letter, which stated: "My Dear Miss Une, I trust that you are well. I'm not doing as good as I would have hoped, or at least our troop is not. Half are sick with pneumonia and gangrene runs rampant. I try to keep the morale up anyway, so they will not feel as much of the pain. My second in command, Zechs Merquise, has proved to be a true friend to me and is a great help. He is from Virginia, but his family is not known I think he hides much of his real identity from the rest of the army. I will try to find out his true origins if I can. I hope Atlanta proves interesting for you, and also that you can help our soldiers that come to your hospital wounded and sick, for we will see so much more battle before this war is over. Some of the men still say we can lick the Yankees in a month or so, but I don't believe it. They have so much more power and resources and men than we have. My troop already goes without many necessities. The battles are long and hard, But I make do so that I can come back and see you again. Yours, Treize Khushrenada She sighed and closed the letter, putting it in the growing pile she received from him. Anne wondered sometimes if he would ever come back, and if he did, could he ever love her the way she had grown to love him through his letters? Two weeks after that last letter, Anne was working at the hospital on a particularly crowded day. Dozens of wounded soldiers had been brought in that day, and most were waiting for the dying to be moved from their beds so they could occupy them. The hospital was hot and sticky, and flies buzzed around the sick and dying no matter what the desperate nurses did to shoo them away. The air was filled with the sounds of groaning and pleas for everything from water to medicine. But the nurses and doctors could only do so much, they were very short on supplies and the necessary medication was given only to ease the dying out of their pain. "Anne!" Doctor Gilbert cried. "Yes," she asked, turning from the bedside of a patient. "I have a soldier over there who needs assistance," he said, pointing to a corner of the room. She nodded, and headed over to him, expecting nothing more than another dying soldier. When she reached the soldier, she looked at his face and gasped. "Captain Khushrenada!" She gasped, the towel she was holding falling to the floor. He smiled slightly, as she stood there, too surprised to say anything. |
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