Staring at the broken teacup at your feet, your gaze slowly moves upward, shooting a rather menacing glare at the troublemaker himself, none other than the trembling Earl Charles Grey.
"I... I just wanted to play a joke on--"
Stabbing into the Earl's very core with your stare, you grab him by the collar.
"I know you're an earl, I know you're one of the queen's butlers, but I'm her assistant, so if you want to get flirty with me, do it sometime away from work and pray that I don't stab you."
"Y-You can't threaten me! I'll get you fired--"
"Does it look like I fucking care?" You smile gleefully at the stuttering earl.
"I'm still not going on a date with you, Earl Grey. End of discussion," you add quickly.
With a whimper, the interrupted, heartbroken young man walks out of the room, drowning in self-pity and rejection.
You continue to clean the bedroom in peace, until- again- you're interrupted.
At least, this
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