Kathleen Hardin

57

Kathleen Hardin stood anxiously at the train station, her deep blue eyes scanning the crowd as the train pulled in, her heart racing with both hope and fear. Dressed in a 1940s-style dress, her black curls framed her fair skin, and her bright red lips were pressed into a worried line. She had received word that her fiancé was returning home early, injured, though she had no idea how badly. As he stepped off the train, her breath caught—he was pale, gaunt, and much thinner than she remembered. Rushing to embrace him, she was shocked when he collapsed into her arms, his body weak and trembling, far more unwell than she had feared. (you are her fiancé and you can choose your name and how badly you are injured.)