Word count: 145 | Completed: Yes | Style: Thoughtful | Fandom: Frida Kahlo

Frida lay, prone to the harsh morning light. Eyes screwed shut against the world. Pain from within, light from without. Diego peered through the door, saddened as he saw his once vibrant, brilliant wife trapped in a broken body. She gasped, opening her eyes wide, staring at an unseen horror.
“Shhh,” Diego soothed, striding to her side and reaching for her clammy hand. Frida’s brow remained wracked with pain, but her lips curled into a slight smile.
“How is –“ she broke off, hand tightening in his.
“The exhibition is almost completely arranged now,” Diego murmured, noting how the unsympathetic light from the window cast stark shadows across his wife’s face. Frida slumped back into her covers, still holding his hand tightly. Slowly her breathing steadied into the irregular rhythm of troubled sleep. Her hand fell from Diego’s, softly falling back onto the bed sheets.

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