"Don't look so frightened!
This is just a passing phase,
One of my bad days."

"Kommen Sie hier, Katya."

"M-Mr. Germany?" Yekaterina's teal eyes met the German's blue ones and then darted away, as if looking at him too long would burn her somehow. He sighed and repeated the command in Russian.

"Come here." Her eyes turned up to study his face for a moment before obeying. She had been acting different towards him, but he did not know why. He realized it must have had something to do with the previous evening, but he couldn't remember anything that had occured. Lately, Yekaterina had been seemingly tip-toeing around him, staying as close to Veneziano as possible, and finding excuses to keep a wide berth between herself and him.

"Y-Yes?" she said quietly, taking a few steps forward to where he sat, her face pale.

"You do not know how to speak German, do you?" he asked in the heavily accented Russian he used when speaking to her.

"I know some things," she said unconvincingly. It was true that she had picked up a few words, but she couldn't understand most of the things he said when he conversed on the phone with others, or spoke to her when he was drunk. Sometimes she was relieved she couldn't understand—she was worried she might hear something terrible about some turn of the war or her family.

"Not enough to be prepared for after the war," he argued, gesturing for her to sit beside him on the sofa, "Even Italy knows how to speak fluent German, and he is an idiot."

"Oh…"

"My boss had suggested that I teach you the basics in my spare time."

"Yes, sir," she responded, wondering if she would ever be independent again. The kiss the night before had been terrifying enough, and now she would have to be this close, alone, with him almost every day. She wasn't sure if she would be able to handle it.

"But for now, I suppose we can wait. I assume you are eager to hear about how the war is going?"

She looked up, meeting his cold stare with a bright curiosity. "Yes, please."

He raised one eyebrow slightly, almost amused at the change in her attitude. "Well, the Russian military has—"

The phone rang at that moment, and he scowled, his eyes darkening.

"Katya, leave," he said with a sigh, "and I don't want you eavesdropping again."

Her face reddened and she promptly walked out of the room, obediently closing the door behind her. She was glad to be away from Ludwig, but she wished he had been able to finish his sentence. She wanted to know very badly how Ivan was doing against the German military.

Now she was alone. Veneziano hadn't come by to visit, having decided to spend the day with his older brother instead, so she had no one to talk to. She wished that Ludwig would let her write letters to her siblings; that was at least she would know how they were doing. She knew that Belarus had been trapped, and that many of her people had foolishly welcomed the German troops, as her own had at first. Then she wondered again why he hadn't broughtNatalya here as well. Maybe it was just to make her more miserable.

But was she truly miserable? She was never content, and she cried sometimes, but she wasn't right now. She had even been closer than an arm's length away from her captor, and yet all she felt was fear, not misery or sadness. Fear, and maybe curiosity. I need something to do to distract me from thinking so strangely.

But, of course, every room in the house was clean, eliminating her chance of spending her time doing something reasonably useful. That was typical; Ludwig was very particular about organization, even more so than anyone she had ever met. She rarely had work to do, to tell the truth. He even did all the baking, which both amused and puzzled her.

It came to her suddenly that she was very alone here. Alone with this man who both terrified and excited her in turns, alone in a place where she should not be welcome.

"Das kann nichtpassieren!" The sudden exclamation from down the hall made her blood freeze and she in her fear knelt to the floor, expecting a blow. Nothing happened, of course—Ludwig was still in his study, on the phone.

Nevertheless, she had never heard him so angry. He had incredible self control (except for yesterday, of course,) for a man as cruel as himself, and the shout had only highlighted how helpless she would be if he was to attack her somehow.

Yet, the curiosity that gnawed at her thoughts forced her back to her feet, being as silent as possible in order to hear more of the conversation. When she only heard his muffled voice, she took a step closer; then another, and another…

The phone clicking back into the receiver. Footsteps. The handle of the door turning. And of course, she could only watch in horror as the man stepped out, his breathing shaky as if he was trying hard to control it. His eyes were at first on the floor, but then he must have sensed her because his eyes darted up, catching her own in a dead hold.

"I told you not to listen in." He spoke through clenched teeth, but his voice was alarmingly calm.

"I-I wasn't, I was—" He started to walk forward, his mouth beginning to curve upwards in a smile that chilled her. He was smiling the same was he had when he first saw her, but back then she had mistaken the anger for kindness; the sadism for friendship…

She let out a sound like a half-scream and half-whimper, and then her instincts took over. She soun around and began to run as fast as her legs could take her away from him—because as charming as he could be, he had stolen her and thousands of her peoples' lives. He was dangerous; he was cold; he was calculating; he was evil.

Why would she never learn?

The young woman did not hear him behind her, but that was in no way a consolation. She ran to the nearest broom closet and closed herself in, cursing herself for choosing such a stupid place to hide the moment the door clicked shut. She froze when she finally heard him come down the stairs before lurching forward and grabbing the door knob, holding it tightly. There was no lock on the door, so she had to use all her strength to hold it back in case he should try to open it. He passed by the closet. She sighed, her face wet with tears. Then he paused and turned, coming back. She heard him tap on the door.

"Frau Ukraine." He spoke softly, without a hint of the previous anger in his voice. She held her breath, feeling her heart pounding in her chest.

"Frau Ukraine, I can hear you." She didn't answer—what would she say?

"When you refuse to open the door I will, that seems fair, doesn't it?"

"N-No!"

"I won't hurt you."

She let out a sob, her strength suddenly gone. She let her hands fall away from the handle of the door. Yekaterina was trapped.

When the door pulled away from her, she just stayed in her kneeling position on the floor, feeling helplessly pathetic. She was aware of his eyes on her, but her own just shut, waiting.

"Stand." When she didn't, to her horror he took her by the arms and lifted her, forcing her to her feet. She opened her eyes again, feeling dizzy. With a shocked moan, her face was turned up towards his as he pulled her head back by her hair, obviously more roughly than he had intended.

"Don't run away," he said simply, and she noticed how tired he looked. However, the fear she felt paired with the knowledge of her own helplessness made the situation more horrifying than ever, and the world around her spun for a moment before all was black.