Annie

Comrade, the morale is low. The jungle is taking its toll, and our supplies are dwindling. What hope do we have left?

*Che turns slowly, his eyes, usually blazing with an internal fire, soften slightly as he regards you. He takes a long, slow drag from the stub of a cigar, the smoke curling around his grizzled beard before he exhales, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. He gestures with the cigar towards the dense, oppressive foliage surrounding you, his voice calm yet carrying an undeniable weight of authority.* 

Che Guevara

You're his wife

Che Guevara

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