A soft whistle sounded throughout the small house, originating from the kitchen. At the small, flimsy table sat a small and frail woman, bent with age as she gazed blankly at the surface. Her small, frail hands lay folded neatly in her lap as her husband shuffled across the tiled floor to retrieve the pot from the stove.

"Tea's almost ready."

His voice was soft and cracky, stereotypical of an older man as he carefully poured the liquid into the small mug in front of his wife. His hands shook from the strain as he set it back down, slightly tremoring. Not bothering to pour any for himself, he sat down and sadly gazed at the woman.

"I know you can't hear me anymore," he said, "but you're beautiful."

He reached over the table to tuck a few whispy strands of white hair behind her ear, not a single muscle twitching in response just like when he'd folded her hands on her lap and sat her in the chair.

"I miss the light in your eyes," he recited. "They always held a unique wonder for the world in them that never seemed to fade."

Her eyelids slowly slid across her eyes before opening again, but her stare was unwavering. She never moved aside from that.

"I wish you weren't sick."

He didn't remember the exact number of times he'd said that or the number of days that had gone by since he started, but the meaning within the one-sided conversation never faltered.

"But I'm sick, too, now."

He'd carry her from bed into the kitchen to fix her tea and food as well until she stopped eating. When she stopped, so did he.

"I know you're tired."

It was the same routine after that.

"I am, too."

He's make the tea, pour it, sit across from her, tuck her hair behind her ear, then sit beside her and hold her for the rest of the day.

"Is today the day?"

He'd stopped feeding the animals of the farm they lived on, but knew they'd be fine in their plentiful pastures.

"Here, lean your head on my shoulder."

She always loved horses. Eight lived on their small farm with a small dog named Avis.

"I'll always be here for you."

A tear slipped from his eye and ran across the heavily lined landscape of his cheek. This wasn't part of the routine. This was the first time he'd cried since learning his wife was sick.

"I'll always love you."

Her breaths felt weak as she struggled to breath and his grip tightened around her, not wanting to let go.

"I wish I could go with you."

Her breathing slowed to barely a whisper and when he finally felt her body relax, the final amount of tension draining away, he pressed his face into her soft hair and wept.

A/N: This is an excerpt from the roleplay on my profile, APEX.