London, England: The Great Plague. Year: 1665.
The black-death epidemic was killing him.
Though, not literally killing him. He had yet to be infected. For now, he was just so stressed, devastated, and worried to the point where his life felt like a living hell. And hell meant death.
In other words, the bubonic plague- an incurable disease caused by bacteria- was slowly, painfully killing him in a different way than everyone else.
He’d never felt more useless in his entire life.
He tried so hard to protect them. He searched everywhere for an answer.
But in the end, all he could do was stand there and watch the people of his country suffer. The outbreak of the disease was still fairly new, but it had happened in the past and lasted over a hundred years.
Every day, he cried. He watched families bury their own graves. He watched mountains of bodies be tossed into ditches; no loved on