Bruma 8th, 4288 Entry 1
There is no proper way to tell the story of one's life. Especially when that life belongs to the writer.
Today, my world has ended.
I came to her in the morning. Plans I had made for a day of love were still tickling the tip of my tongue. She has been so ill for the past few weeks. I just wanted to bring the light back to her eyes. I wanted to see her sweet smile. I wanted my Alma back. For the first time in weeks, we had a day to ourselves. No doctors. No visitors. I just wanted the day with my wife.
We were to go to Tranquillum. I had booked the travel and even a guide for us last year. Unfortunately, with her declining health, I had to cancel. It mattered not because all I need is her. I wrapped her gift with crimson paper, and carried her to the fireplace in our home. I set her on the couch and I fetched her food and water. I wrapped her frail frame in the quilt her mother had gifted us the day we wed. I sat with her. We talked. We laughed. We cried. We embraced. None of it mattered in the end. I wish she would have told me sooner.
The glint in her blue eyes when she gingerly tore the paper enveloping the gift I had gotten her gave me a very brief relief. I had finally been able to afford the ring she deserved after 5 years of marriage. Her hand trembled when I slid it onto her finger. And then the tears. If only I knew they were not tears of elation.
"I am dying, my love."
The words she spoke have been echoing in my head since they fell from her dark lips. Everything she said after is still a garbled mess. Something about doctors, something about treatment, something about time.
I do not accept this. She is my wife, and the Gods cannot have her.
Ver 11th, 4288 Entry 2
I have spent as much time as I can caring for Alma. My work has gone to the wayside, and though part of me is enraged for not continuing to find a cure, the majority of my mind cannot tear myself from her side. I can see it in her slowly dulling eyes, every time I g to leave the room. The longing for my companionship til the very end. How can I let her end? I cannot speak of the things I must do, but I know that she knows what it is in the cellar. I can see how her face distorts when I enter her room.
My wife Alma has taken a turn for the worse. We reminisced of days passed. The day we got married. The day we finished the house. The children we wanted to have. I held her and brushed her hair. I will cherish these moments. I cannot let them end. I will not. I fear her time is not long. I have studied and studied, to no avail. I cannot seem to heal her anymore. I have failed....