For this writing prompt, I will give you the last line of your story. You write the rest. Here is mine.
Wracked with age she lay in her bed. Agony coursed through her body. Her hands, once soft and beautiful now gnarled, twisted, skeletal. Her once rosy cheeks, now shallow and sunken in. Her legs and feet contorted against her will. Delusional, she screamed his name that her knight might come again. Across the room, a stone fireplace glows. The nun prepared her medicinal tea in the flame. Carefully she sturred each herb into the pot bringing it to a boil. Nothing more could be done to cure, but relief might be possible.
Sobbing, her charge cried out in unrelenting torment. The sister sat by her side while the tea simmered. She moistened a cloth and wiped the elderly woman’s glistening brow. Creatures of the night slowly emerged and cried out for their mates. A lone wolf serenaded the moon, then joined by several more. A herd of deer trampled through the thicket. The nun valiantly tried to soothe her friend.
Glancing quickly at the water clock, she poured some of the tea into a wooden bowl and coaxed the woman to drink. Plink, plunk, plink, plunk, plink, plunk, plink, plunk, plink, the clock tallied the seconds, then minutes, then hours. The ancient woman rested fitfully moaning and sobbing loudly in her sleep as her breathing shallowed. First, she stood in a field gathering flowers. A dashing tall young man galloped upon his steed. He swiftly plucked a robust rose from its bush and handed it to her “A beautiful flower for a lovely woman.” She bashfully took it and put it in her hair.
Sometime later he came to her home on bended knee. “I asked your father for his blessing. Now I’m asking for yours. Will you marry me?” A sliver of light overtook the dark. Then a sliver became a stream and a stream a river. The nun stoked the fire as she kept her vigil. She stepped outside to gather more wood. “Not long now.”
The knight peered silently through the lone window on his beloved. Like the day they first met, decades ago while she was picking flowers in the field. Her wrinkles faded and the rose returned to her no longer shallow cheeks. He burst through the door and whispered gently in her ear “I’ve come my sweet.” He lifted her body into his arms. She gazed longingly for a moment, turned, and entered her sweet oblivion.