#damian was supposed to die there ahha

[crispydonuts]

Found a file in my gdocs of my unfinished (and now deleted) damianya fanfic where they’re adults in the regency era and are in a marriage of convenience hehehaha. This was supposed to be the final chapter and it is incomplete and kinda wanna share it here haha, happy reading!

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It was a fine morning when Anya started to complete some documents that were left by Damian when he went out to war. The tip of her quill hits the paper as she finishes signing some documents, which were needed to be finalized and approved by Demetrius in order to start working on the important deals from across the country.

Today marks two years since the war between Ostania and Westalis has ended. The peace treaty was signed by the kings, Donovan Desmond and his troops were sent to prison for stealing the lands of the west without the country’s knowledge, their unjust treatment towards the citizens, and causing conflict between the two countries.

Anya thought to herself. It has been two years since the countries signed the peace treaty and everything went back to normal…

Two years since she gave birth to Raphael and Roxana, the twins that were once inside her womb are now jolly four year olds that run around the manor’s gardens and bringing noise and laughter to hers and to the servants’ lives.

Two years since she started to take over the affairs of the Forger household and rebuilding the Desmond dukedom from its downfall, alongside being officially named as the grand duchess of the Desmond Dukedom by Demetrius himself.

Two years have passed and still no signs of her husband’s return from war, still waiting patiently for any sign that he’ll return, breathing in one whole piece.

If Anya will be honest, anxiety sometimes waves over her with thoughts that he might not return, or something bad has happened that nobody has the heart to tell her of.

A knock on the door abruptly paused Anya’s thoughts, returning her back to reality where the desk is occupied with paperwork and a quill with dried ink on her hand.

“Come in!” A maid holding a tray that held a familiar black brooch and a letter came in. The maid walked towards the Duchess, placing the tray on the table.

“A letter came in from the military, my lady.” The maid informed her. A letter from the military could only mean two things: the status of a man if he is alive and breathing, or the man is deceased and the body was found after weeks of searching.

“Thank you, you may now go.” Anya replied and the maid left soundlessly to the room. Reaching for the letter, she cradled the letter on her hands like a fragile trinket, feeling its rough texture and the smoothness of the wax stamp in blood red. She reached for the letter knife then sliced the folded paper open, only to present a paper that changed in color due to time. Nervously, she read the letter with care.

To my beloved, Anya,

I snuck into the night to write this letter as a reply to your message from three months ago. Forgive me, my love, that I took a long time to reply as I was still trying to convince myself that I am finally going to be a father of two children. Believe me when I tell you that I was so ecstatic when I read your letter that I have to contain my joyous cries at midnight.

It still feels surreal that in a few months, probably when I get home, I’ll see you holding our children onto your arms with a smile on your bright face… Getting to watch our family grow and watch our children get married…. Oh, just thinking of such things are filling my insides with joy!

The war is still a long way before it ends, most of our men have perished in both painful and painless ways. It was traumatizing to watch such a tragedy in front of everyone’s eyes. To tell the truth, I just want to return home. Although it may sound cowardly of me but this is the truth, all of us don’t want to experience more of this traumatic event where our skin and clothes are tainted with blood from people we were ordered to kill… Because these people have families, wives, children, and friends waiting for them back home, and this fact continues to eat my conscience alive.

I wish I could run away from this place and return home, where you are right now. Maybe if I have the choice to refuse the order to be in war, I would’ve helped you during your years of pregnancy and spend the rest of our lives in bliss and happiness-