Knowing there's nothing real you can do, you settle for a little aesthetic beauty to lighten the mood. You hand flowers to each of the townspeople as they go, saying simple platitudes like, "God bless," or "stay strong." Two people go by in silence, but the third person you approach seems upset.
"You think a flower is going to bring back our families?" he shouts at you. "Is this how you save us from the black death?" A murmer of assent rises from around you.
"Well, I..." The man doesn't give you a chance to finish.
"You came all the way from the capitol to hand us flowers as we die?" He knocks the basket of flowers from you hands, pushes you to the ground, and delivers a solid kick to your ribs before he leaves. Rather than take a flower, the next person in line gives you a kick as well. This continues, each villager giving one solid kick, until they're all gone and you're lying alone in a pool of blood. You're not dead, but you wish you were. You've failed these people; you had a chance to be a savior, but all you've managed to do is mock their hardship. You awake with the burden of shame and regret heavy in your mind.