Despite his humble origins, Bard treated her like a queen. In reality, of course, Grelle was thrilled. “Bard! You shouldn’t have!” she squealed. Taking a look at the packaging, she realized that he’d bought it from their favorite restaurant in the reaper realm. She soon found herself dozing off, and, the next thing she knew, Bard had returned with a large container of what smelled like delicious chicken soup. He always tried his best for her, even when his efforts went up in flames. Grelle affectionately shook her head as he left. The shamefaced (and lightly singed) chef popped in to inform Grelle that he was “steppin’ out” but would be back shortly. Of course, Bard being Bard, soup preparations didn’t exactly go according to plan, and it wasn’t long before the now-familiar scent of burning comestibles wafted through the apartment. Grelle watched his departure with fond eyes. “I’ll fix ye a nice warm bowl o’ chicken soup,” he said awkwardly, squeezing her hand before making his way to the kitchen. And a kind one, too, who loved her for who she truly was.įlustered, Bard adjusted his glasses, fidgeted with the bottom of his shirt, and hastily cleared his throat. After decades of loneliness, she had miraculously found that rarest of creatures: A good man. Grelle hugged the soft toy and smiled up at Bard. Upon witnessing Grelle’s fascination with the sharks during a date at a London aquarium (“Their teeth are just like mine, darling!”), Bard had impulsively bought her Funtom’s “Bitter Shark.” Not an entirely apt name he’d proposed to her later that day, so the cuddly shark was inextricably linked to cherished memories. In the aftermath of its founder’s Faustian demise, the Funtom Company run by Bard’s erstwhile young master had expanded its selection of toys to encompass aquatic creatures. He bustled about like a fretful mother hen, fetching handkerchiefs, hot water bottles, books, and Grelle’s favorite comfort item-a stuffed shark. Bard soon returned with extra blankets and quilts, tucking Grelle in and arranging plenty of fluffy pillows behind her head. Despite her malaise, she had to admit that the prospect of being tended to by her husband for a day wasn’t half bad. Grelle got back into her pajamas and eased onto their bed. I’ve got to stay an’ take care of my gal!” Giving her a warm smile and a cheery thumbs-up, he added, “Jus’ call me Nurse Bard!” “Darling, there’s really no need…” Grelle protested feebly. Spears a call to let ‘im know I won’t be comin’ in.” Ye should probably stay home fer t’day.” Before leaving the room, he reassured her, “I’ll give Mr. Looks like a cold to me, Miss Grelle.” Taking her by the shoulders, he gently but firmly escorted Grelle to bed. “I think my sinuses are just a little…a-a-a-ACHOO!” Grelle’s vain attempts at allaying Bard’s worries were stymied by another bout of the dreaded sneezes. “Ye all right, doll?” Bard asked in concern as he poked his head around the bedroom door, putting on his coat. She ached all over, and a persistent soreness nagged at her throat. She was supposed to be getting dressed so that she and Bard could grab a quick bite of breakfast before work (an easier and less combustible option than making their own), but the red reaper was feeling decidedly under the weather. Grelle sniffled after her fourth attack of sneezing that morning.
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