***a wartime relation***

He had been sent away to fight on the frontlines... and (she) doubted that he would ever return.
(Clank of swords)
Each night she lay awake, envisioning (him, her lover) on the battlefield. She imagined his death a hundred times over; calling out in pain and anguish for her. Her sleepless nights left her too exhausted to do much of anything. She aimlessly roamed the halls of the palace like the living dead, a distant look in her glazed eyes.
[···]
(She) heard the sound of someone approaching, and leapt to her feet, wiping the tears from her eyes.
(Creaking doors) 
(She) stared at the soldier standing before her. He wore the frayed and muddy uniform of the defeated army. His face was battered, and partially obscured by rough stubble, but his eyes were the same as the first time they met.
(Thud on the grass-strewn floor as he goes: Oh!/Whoa!)
(The lovers) lay in (there; on the floor) for hours, discussing all that had happened. (He) told (her) about the things he had seen, the battles he had fought, the friends that he had lost. (She/One) could see now that he was not the same man that had gone off to war; some small part of him had not returned... like a light that had gone out. But she loved him all the more fiercely for it, and wanted nothing more than to protect him. As dawn approached, their discussion turned to the approaching wedding.


Adapted from the Krasue episode of Mythology Parcast -- but could also apply to Othello or Marius or Marius's dad or... there is a book called La vida de las flores (I will soon review it) with a story, La Siempreviva (The Evergreen) about a young veteran returning home to his village from the frontlines a broken man... and he only lives for a little more and then dies young at the end, but it is a fascinating study in PTSD (from pre-world-war times no less).