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He laid the warm cup of tea on the table next to her. The gentle scent of chamomile massaged his nostrils.

He sat down on the bed beside her crying, shaking form, and gently stroked the top of her head, knowing that she found that comforting.

He waited silently, knowing that she needed to let her feelings out, and that when she was ready, she'd speak.

The repetitive gentle strokes of his hand soon lulled him into a comfortable ease. Patiently, he waited for her to open up.

When she finally spoke, he started slightly, then quickly focused his attention on her words. He wanted to make sure he heard everything she said. He wanted her to feel loved and understood.

The words poured from her, interrupted only by her little gasps and sobs.

He knew it was an incredibly bad day for her. Again. It seemed like the bad days were increasing. He couldn't remember the last time she smiled and laughed purely, freely.

Her smiles used to be vibrant, her laugher, sparks of joy that lit the world about her.

He missed the joy and happiness they used to share, her energy, her drive.

But he was being selfish. He needed to take care of her now, when she was down, miserable and in pain.

She spoke, and he listened. The night passed quickly. When she had finally aired the last vestige of her pain, he felt tired, but glad that he had been there for her. Felt happy when she told him how much she appreciated him.

A few months passed like that.

He looked at her sobbing form on the bed, and felt a sense of failure. He wasn't able to make her happy.

He walked to the kitchen, and prepared a cup of tea. Lavender this time.

He laid the warm cup of tea on the table next to her. The gentle scent of lavender massaged his nostrils.

He sat down on the bed beside her crying, shaking form, and gently stroked the top of her head, knowing that she found that comforting.

He waited silently, knowing that she needed to let her feelings out, and that when she was ready, she'd speak.

She spoke. She was worried, sad. She didn't know if she'd ever be okay again. If everything would ever be okay.

He continued to stroke the top of her head gently.

He would make her happy again. He would be happy again too.

"All will be well, my love."

She looked at him, smiled through her tears, and closed her eyes, weeping quietly.

"All will be well." He repeated, and slowly, lovingly, slid the blade across her throat.

He watched as her pain spilt out of her, bright and intense. She was freed. He freed her. He watched the darkness lift from her body, as a small pool of red blossomed about her head, forming a beautiful halo. It suited her. She opened her eyes and stared at him, shocked. He continued to stroke her head, and laid a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Understanding settled upon her, and her face softened. With a half-smile, she closed her eyes.

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