╰┈➤ 𝐋𝐀 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐗𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄 || Outlander › WILLIAM x OC)
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______ GENEVIEVE, an American woman from the 1960's, thrusted into a war of politics ( Vietnam) and made to see herself fit as an army nurse. But her life soon...
❝ Sing me a song of a lass that is gone Say, could that lass be I? Merry of soul she sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye ❞
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WILMINGTON, NORTH CAROLINA 1776
|| ON THIS PARTICULAR CRISP MORNING, SCREAMS AND VIOLENT BURSTS INVADED A WEAKENED SOUL. Sorrows once more confined to the ill-faded heart of a soldier. Pain, but not one simple like a cut upon the finger. No, this was a different kind that plagued the traumatized minds. The one thing not talked about when joining up, the one thing that stays with one for eternity.
Genevieve jarred with quite the jolt—a sorrowful bellow echoes from the depths of her body. It felt as her entire being rigged itself stiff—awaiting something to strike upon her. Even after being dismissed from the military, Jenny had always been a soldier. Born and raised amidst the controlled chaos of the Army, She was accustomed to hard bunks and icy morning drills - a stoic environment that molded her into a relentless warrior.
Her eyes flickered opened upon a figure looming over her—one stout and feminine. Yet the mind flashed forth one of a man in a hat, until a few momentary blinks washes away the oriental distinctions into that of European features—morphing into a frantic Claire. Her brows furrowed in confusion, shifting slightly upon the cot—the burning sensation in her limbs ebbing away as she slowly woke up.
"You were screaming, in your sleep." Claire expressed, her voice softly woven with profound affection. Claire's hand gently intertwined with Genevieve's, as if offering a maternal touch of serenity. Her face displayed evident signs of sleep deprivation; dark circles framed her weary eyes and the tight-lipped smile was a tell-tale of her emotional fatigue.
Jenny's labored breathing had come down from hyper ventilating—eyes turned gloomy. The young brunette began to grasp Claire's hands tightly, merely making her knuckles drain of any color and Claire's void of any feeling. The older woman grunts at the pain—staking grip Genevieve has staked upon her—merely adjusting her posture to withstand it.
"I'm sorry claire, I just.." she chokes out, " I just need to make sure this isn't a nightmare." Claire cues a nod, her wrinkles of time well spend softening upon the frightened girl.
