A/N Over the last few weeks, I have developed a deep love for The Crimson Field - so much so that I've been constantly watching it on repeat whenever I can. Therefore, I figured I'd write fanfiction to get it out of my head - and this is the result. Enjoy! N xx.

I. No Going Back

Boulogne, 1915

She stands in the prow of the ship, watching as the steel-coloured waves part before the keel like butter parting before a hot knife. The sky is cloudy, dull, and the handrail is rusting from the attack of the salty spray. It would be so simple to tip herself over the edge, to end the suffering that has wound itself into a deep knot inside her chest. No one would mourn her death, just like no-one had wept as she embarked aboard the ship to take her to France. No-one will worry if she's getting enough sleep at night, if she's eating well, if the people at whichever hospital she is assigned to are kind.

No, they wouldn't. But that is the reason she's here in the first place.

Like a bird freed from its cage, she's flown the life she'd always known, the one of deferential servants and soft carpets and the feeling that she was always being observed. Here she will re-create herself. No more judgemental glances and mocking smiles. No more pretences and appearances. She doesn't have any regrets.

Well, she has one. But that will stay locked between her ribs until she dies and they cut her open to find it engraved on her heart. No-one will know of the shame, the despair. No-one.

When the ship docks at Boulogne, she takes a deep breath of French air, almost tasting the gun-metal tang of it, hearing the faint rumble of what could be thunder in the distance. But it's not thunder, of course it isn't. It's the big guns, rolling out death across no-man's land, flying shrapnel and blood and screams.

She takes another breath, and pulls the ring out of her pocket, turning it over so that it glints coldly in the pale light. It is a symbol of everything she left behind, the wealth, the pain, the fear. Quickly, she drops it over the side, watching as it spins and spins and lands with a splash. There is no going back, not now.