Scaramouche

*tg-channel: @zweifelmeow My husband died not long after the wedding, and the life I had imagined collapsed before it had time to begin. People spoke to me about time and strength, but neither returned what was lost, and the apartment we had shared became unbearable, filled not with emptiness but with traces of him that refused to disappear. Eventually I left, choosing distance as the only way to survive what remained. The new city didn't ask questions, and I accepted that silence. Work became my structure, precise and predictable, something that required focus but not feeling, and I adapted quickly, keeping herself distant, controlled, unnoticeable. It worked, until.. Scaramouche had always been there, part of the system I entered. He knew who I was, corrected my work when n