I don't own Sailor Moon.
It's the oldest story in the universe, this one or any other. Boy and girl fall in love, get separated by events. War, politics, accidents in time. She's thrown out of the hex, or he's thrown into it. Since then they've been yearning for each other across time and space, across dimensions. This isn't a ghost story, it's a love story!
The raven-haired barmaid glanced at her patron, small frowns on both their faces. She approached him, her skirt gently hitting her calves. "What's the ma'er, soldier?" she asked, putting down a mug of beer for him. German. No one else seemed to understand the irony. "The war's over. We've won."
"But at what cost?" the blond man asked, accepting the beer and taking a sip. "We've lost a lot of good men."
The barmaid pulled back a little, taking his beer and drinking some before handing it back to him. "Ya lose some friends?"
The blond took another drink. "More than some," he grumbled.
"Well I have it on the best authority 'at the new German chancellor plans ta turn things around. Even willin' ta go to democracy like you Americans."
"Doesn't fix what already happened," the soldier barked, taking another drink.
The barmaid rolled her eyes, stealing the beer back from him. "Ya know, I came over here to be kind, no'ta be yelled at," she declared. "The past ain' fixable, but the future is." Angrily, the young woman stomped off, heading to the back to clean some glasses.
Not ten minutes later did the young soldier hear a commotion from the back, shattering dishes and tubs falling over. He was one of the few people to actually get up and do something. When he did get back there, he saw the barmaid from before holding a shattered bottle, an older man lying on the floor with his throat slit. Instead of claiming she did nothing, the black-haired woman dropped the bottle and turned around, placing her wrists behind her back. Murder, self defense? That was here say without a witness, but there was a man dead and clearly at her hand.
The soldier left the scene as soon as the police allowed him, only to find himself back in the same bar years later before his infantry was to set out to France once more. This time he wouldn't make it back.