.oOo.
Mother and Father would be surprised to find out that she's taken in three German refugees while they were away. Maybe Mother and Father don't need to know.
.oOo.
Magdalena Pichler, 18, Northern European Female
She watches the birds fly through the air and sing for joy, the spring infusing them with happiness. They fly onto a branch and playfully dance around each other, the bright red and blue colours bringing life to the drab branch. She smiles to see the birds so happy, walking among the trees of the forest that she's escaped into. The birds continue to sing to one another before pausing, looking towards an unknown object before flying into the distance, chirping in alarm. Magdalena frowns in confusion, looking towards the source of the bird's panic before shrugging her shoulders and continuing to walk alongside the small stream. It's as clear as glass, untainted by the war that lies beyond her parent's estate. She's safe here, far away from any German who would try to take this forest for themselves. Mama and Dad paid off several officials in the German government to protect their Austrian estate from being taken over.
Magdalena enters the meadow of flowers that she comes to every spring and settles down next to a patch of edelweiss, entwining the small flowers into her long blonde hair. She giggles at the thought of her parents seeing her this way and brushes back her hair, standing up and walking towards the edge of the meadow. It slants upwards towards a large cliff, overlooking a stunning river and a large town below. If she gets to the very edge of the cliff and turns around, she can see her house beyond the forest. There are no flames here, like what her parents had whispered about in other parts of Austria, only calm waters and gorgeous forests. She's truly at home.
A rustle behind Magdalena causes her to stumble, and the girl turns around to see three bedraggled children stumble into the meadow. The oldest moves back and grabs a large stick that the youngest had been carrying, pointing it directly at Magdalena. "D-Don't come any closer, or I'll hit you!"
"Yeah, Ernst will dich bekämpfen!" the youngest child yells, taking a defensive stance and narrowing her eyes - which shine bright crystal blue, Magdalena notices. "Do it, Ernst!"
"Shush, Monika. Let Ernst handle this." The third child places a hand on Monika and pushes her back, frowning nervously at Magdalena. "We can't get in the way of these two."
"Do you guys need help?" Magdalena manages to stammer, pointing towards her mansion. "My parents aren't here for the day, so I could let you come there and get a few things if you need them. What are you running from to make you turn up here?"
Monika opens her mouth to answer but Ernst shushes her, his brown eyes flashing. "We don't want to live in Germany anymore. Our parents were taken, so we're trying to flee to America."
"You didn't hear?" Magdalena finds herself saying, scratching the side of her neck with her long fingers. "America agreed to join the competition that Germany has started. It's only Southern America, some of Africa, and Asia that is left free, and Japan controls most of that. There's not many places to go around here, and you'll have to register for the competition next week."
Ernst's jaw drops and he lets out a pained sigh, followed by the second boy. "Are - are you kidding? Is there anywhere else to go?"
"Nowhere."
Monika starts to sob quietly, hugging her thin stomach and shaking her head. "I'm so hungry, Franz. Isn't there anything to eat?" The middle child - apparently Franz - nods and hugs her tightly, looking desperately towards Ernst.
"You could stay with me," interjects Magdalena, surprised by her boldness. Mother and Father would be surprised to find out that she's taken in three German refugees while they were away.
Maybe Mother and Father don't need to know.
The three children follow behind Magdalena obediently, and she leads them throughout the pine forest. The stream continues to burble merrily as they walk past and they soon reach the grass of the Pichler estate, Magdalena breathing in the fresh air delightedly. It's nice to be back home, especially after their winter trip to Switzerland. She can give some Swiss chocolate to the children! Yes, that's what she'll do!
Monika breaks into a run for the door as soon as they reach the open field and Ernst gasps, chasing her while Franz walks beside Magdalena. "We've taught her to find hiding places whenever she's out in the open. I guess she's remembering everything we said."
Magdalena giggles at the little girl sprinting ahead of her brother, unperturbed by the fact that the children had to hide whenever they were near enemies. "She can have one of the smaller rooms next to mine. Nobody goes in there, not even the maids because they know that Mama and Dad don't check there. She'll be safe - did you want your own room as well, or do you want to share with your brother?"
"We'll all take the room that you talked about." Franz curtly walks ahead to his siblings and Magdalena stares, wondering why they would stick that close after all of this time together. Then it dawns on her - they feel safe only when they're with each other.
The children soon reach the door and wait for Magdalena to open it, scurrying in after the blonde-haired girl. She grins at their nervousness and leads the way to her room, watching out for one of the few maids that had started their shifts at this hour. "Do you guys need anything?"
"Nein, schlaf einfach," Monika answers for them all, waving goodbye to Magdalena as she shuts the door to the hidden room. "I think Franz is hungry, though. You could get something for him!"
Magdalena nods and scratches the back of her neck, walking out to the kitchen. She can get them food, it'll help them recover from their long trek from Germany.
She doesn't admit it, but one of the reasons she's helping them is because it feels nice to be needed by others.
Is that really so wrong?
.oOo.
"I know you think this is helping our family, but it will only lead to death, Antoine. I can't lose another one of you."
.oOo.
Antoine Deslauriers, 16, Northern European Male
He stands in line with his food card, impatiently twitching his foot and holding it out for another circle to be punched out so that he can enter the tent. The German soldier raises his eyebrow as he looks at the books in Antoine's hand, but he ignores the literature and turns back to an old woman with a little girl tugging on the woman's hand. Antoine enters the tent and grabs a piece of stale fruit, putting it onto his plate along with the small waffle grilled on the side of the tent by a tall, lanky chef. He pushes past a few thin girls gossiping with one another and leaves the tent, settling himself on the curb of the street to properly enjoy his breakfast.
"You! Get off the street! You know you're not supposed to be out here when the parade starts!" a soldier barks at Antoine in German, his lips twitching like an angry horse. "Do you want to have your meal card revoked, eh? What good would that do for you?"
Antoine snarls and backs into the tent, glaring at the man and moving towards the tent. He bumps into the soldier and darts away before the furious German has a chance to reprimand him, not daring to stop until the man out of sight. Antoine weaves his way through the crowd and sits down at the side, holding his plate and books to him protectively as he watches for any pickpockets. Only when he's moved away from a tiny boy with a hungry glint in his eyes and no meal card in his hand Antoine starts to eat, scarfing down the waffle and taking bites out of the stale apple. It's much better than anything he's had in a while, and he quickly finishes it before tucking the apple core into his pocket. He never knows if he'll get that hungry later in the future.
He moves out of the tent with his books and starts to walk in between the allyways of the city, moving towards his hiding spot. Once he reaches that loose brick in the allyway of the third street from the burnt-down bookshop, he shoves the books back into their hiding spot and replaces the brick, his eyes gleaming as he takes the wallet that he had grabbed from the angry German in the street. "Eighty marcs. Not too bad, not too bad."
He shoves the wallet back into his pants and pats it contentedly, moving out of the allyway and into the stream of people heading towards the factories being built in the distance. The Germans had decided months ago, after they had executed Leopold III. Antoine still remembers the pure shock of watching his king being shot down by the executing squad on television, standing in front of the screen so that his sisters wouldn't see. Poor Albertine, she had caught a glimpse of the fallen king and had vomited onto the upholstery, causing Mother to go into another semi-fit.
If only Albertine was still with them.
He continues to move throughout the crowd and takes a look towards the burnt down bookshop, clenching his fists until his nails leae red welts on his palms. The bookstore had been Pa's life, the one place that Antoine truly felt at home. He remembers browsing through as Pa sold books to curious customers, calling to his father whenever he found a rare signature from one of the authors of the book. Depending on the importance of the author, Pa would raise his eyebrows and grab the book from Antoine's hands, his bushy mustache raising in delight before he marked the price up another few franks.
But the Germans hadn't seen any point in keeping what they thought to be a useless waste of space, and they had burnt it down, with Pa still inside it. Pa had tried to throw out books into the streets for Antoine to bring to safety, but Antoine had only managed to grab four before the roof had collapsed over the store. They still hadn't found Pa's body in the rubble, and had no plans to yet. For all of their excitement over new space, the Germans hadn't bothered to build anything in the stead of the bookshop yet.
Antoine growls and hurries towards his home, bumping a stick of a man into a large woman as he races into his door. His mother looks up in surprise as he enters the building, putting her hands on her hips and staring the teen down. "Where have you been? Your sister said something about a stolen meal card. Are you stealing meal cards, Antoine?"
Antoine shrugs and throws the card onto the table, matching his mother's gaze. "I did what I had to to get money for us. Eighty marcs, Mother. Eighty marcs!"
"But you can't just steal like this!" his mother wails, almost knocking down the bowl of thin porridge that she had been stirring in her dismay. "What kind of son have I raised? I thought you were still translating for the soldiers, not stealing from them! Le Seigneur a pitié!"
"They stole everything from us, Mother. Pa, Albertine, the bookshop, that's all gone. I'm taking what they owe us. I don't steal from anyone poorer than us. I'd never do that, Mother."
"Then exactly how did you manage to obtain your precious meal card?" his mother spits, grabbing the porridge and setting it onto their solid-chestnut table. "Those only go to those the Germans deem loyal and poor enough to make use of it."
"Maybe someone dropped it."
"Just go back to your job. I know you think this is helping our family, but it will only lead to death, Antoine. I can't lose another one of you," Mother says, her eyes brimming with tears. "Promise me."
Antoine turns around, hurrying out of the door before Mother has a chance to call him back. They both know he can't promise that to her.
.oOo.
The Germans won't stop until every last Russian is dead.
.oOo.
Juliet Acres, 13, Russian Female
Russia is burning.
She can see the smoke that's been churning over the air ever since the bombs fell on Russia heading towards the large, posh house she's sitting in, the dark clouds of toxic filth threatening to push away everything beautiful in the sky. And if one climbs high enough in the rooftops of St. Petersburg, they can faintly glimpse the fires raging through the countrysides from the bombs. No one's even trying to stop them from reaching her city - German soldiers parole the streets every day and shoot anyone who so as much tries to put up a barrier from the flames. She's watched it happen before - the corpse is still out there on the streets around her home, being trampled by refugees from Moscow and other cities that were bombed by the Germans. Every so often a few are shot for apparently breaking the law, their bodies slowly starting to fill the streets..
The Germans won't stop until every last Russian is dead.
She puts down the small, worn book she's reading onto the couch and moves towards the kitchen, walking through the small hallway that one must take to get to the Acres' kitchen. Mother is inside the large room, heating up some soup on their warm, cozy stove. She turns around as Juliet walks in and coughs slightly, Mother smiling in the way she always does when she has bad news for Juliet. "We don't have much in the pantry, sweetie. We'll have to starve with gruel and dry bread! It's good that Dad isn't here, he wouldn't be too chuffed about our meals." She smiles widely as she mimics the heavy accents of the Russian people, Juliet smiling thinly and nodding her head.
"Mother, when will Dad be coming back home?" she asks, her mother's face falling before she fixes a smile back onto it.
"Father will be back any week now, darling! There's no war to fight anymore, after all. What use would the Germans have for him?" Juliet doesn't observe the trembling note in her mother's voice. She nods in agreement and sits down at the counter, taking a slice of bread on the counter and buttering it with thin butter and strawberry jam from the last container of the fruity substance they have. She might as well enjoy it while she can.
"Some of the refugees have been walking past our house again, Mother. One of them tried to knock on the door, but they soon gave up and went back to the main road." Juliet doesn't mention the fact that the woman who had attempted to get help from them had a tiny, wailing baby in her thin arms. After knocking for fifteen minutes on the door, she had walked away, her starving child being held in her arms as she tried to hurry their journey to whatever form of safety they can find. She could have handed her something from the kitchen, but then she would have had to argue with Mother and get the food and try to be there before the woman left and another, more dangerous refugee tried to get in. It was easier to stay neutral. She's much safer in the shadows of her home than taking sides with the refugees on the streets.
Mother looks through the small window to the side of the stove and watches the refugees continue to march throughout the city, a stray dog weaving in and out of the crowd as it begs for food. Juliet gasps, watching the tiny animal whimper in the middle of the street. "It looks like Jack, Mother. Remember Jack?"
"Juliet, you know as well as I do that we don't have any food to spare. And even if we did, it would go to us, not anyone out on the streets. I can't afford to starve you."
Juliet nods in saddened agreement, watching the dog continue to move through the streets and towards their destination - wherever that may be. She has no idea where the refugees are planning to go, other than the fact that they just want to find a place far away enough from the bombs that had destroyed Moscow. She's lucky that the Germans decided to leave St. Petersburg alone. Maybe it was the Germanic name that caused the Germans to name this the new capital of Russia and place a proxy government in it, with poor Dad forced to work for them as a member of their army for the next few weeks. At least that's what Mother told her - but Mother is always right. "Where do you think that they're going?"
"Probably towards the border, although I don't think that Germany will allow them to go very far. After all, there are still those announcements they have to pay attention to about whatever the Germans want you children to do."
Juliet shivers, remembering the broadcast two weeks ago that she had to watch alongside Mother. Schnee's imposing figure on their new television was adorned with a deliberate smirk, his upper lip curling as he barked out his decree to all of Europe. "He said that he's going to make two children from Russia go into the Games, Mother. I don't want it to be me."
"Of course it won't be you!" her mother croons, hugging Juliet tightly and rocking her in the middle of the kitchen. "There's thousands upon thousands of other girls to take. Why would they pick you, the daughter of a Russian General from Britain, of all places? The Games are for those who are dying, like the refugees. They're just going to hasten their suffering, that's what I think. It is cruel, Juliet, I mince no words about that, but rest assured that you will be safe."
Juliet smiles and slips out of her mother's arms, walking back into the chilly living room. She takes a seat on the comfy black couch and grabs her book, curling up to read once more. She lets herself get swallowed up by the words and tries to forget about the burning world around her, letting the book wash away all of her fears. She doesn't want to pay attention to the refugees out there.
She doesn't want to know how much better she has it than the rest of them.
.oOo.
"Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the company of intelligent women… bah!"
.oOo.
Pyotr Petrovsky, 18, Russian Male
Russia is burning.
He watches the flames engulf the St. Petersburg Conservatory, the stone building being scorched by the intense heat of the flames. Pyotr has heard that the hottest flames are bright white, and he can definitely believe that from the blinding light of the fire across the other side of St. Petersburg. His home away from home, his life, his passions, all are currently being burnt to ashes and blown away by the spring wind.
"Pyotr! Pay attention to me!" His mother takes a step towards the window which Pyotr is watching the city out of, holding up the suit in her hand. "Does this need to be hemmed tomorrow, or is it okay for the drawings next week? You'll have to look your best in case you're picked for whatever sick joke the Germans have planned for our people. Bah, heathens the lot of them, may God curse them to the confines of hell forever more."
"Нет, это нормально," he replies absently, fiddling with a loose seam on the side of his thin shirt. People are starving out in the streets that he's watching, and Mother is only concerned with this lottery to be drawn to the death for.
Perhaps that's all she can handle right now.
Mother huffs and sets down the suit, patting the tight bun that holds up her dark hair, as black as the day she was married to her husband. She doesn't have a speck of grey - Pyotr suspects that she simply wills the colour away from her thick hair. Mother would never succumb to the temptations of hair dye. "Anna is coming over tomorrow, Pyotr. You have to be on your best behaviour, and treat her like a lady, not one of your cohorts, alright?"
Pyotr slumps in his seat and gives a silent sigh, thinking of the girl who'd be coming with her twin tomorrow for a strict dinner. She's beautiful, alright, but he doesn't know how to feel about her, especially when her twin is the one who catches his attention more than Anna's raven-black curls.
He doesn't even know what to feel about himself.
Mother coughs loudly and Pyotr straightens his back in anticipation, waiting for yet another tirade about his posture. "Pyotr, you simply have to sit like a gentleman! You act like a chair is just another way for you to demonstrate your creative abilities. Ha, next you'll forgo the chairs and just sit on the floor like an animal! Да поможет нам Бог," she mutters, turning her back and leaving the room. As she exits through the doorway, she pauses and turns back to the pale boy, her face softening slightly. "Perhaps you could lead the twins through a little composing exercise, or even play for them yourself. You know how Anna loves your music, Pyotr."
Pyotr nods, remembering her sweet smile whenever he sits down at the large piano in the living room and lets himself truly play. When he does, he doesn't pay attention to his audience until it's over, throwing himself into the music and letting him live through the highs, the lows, and the triumphs of the piece.
There's no war in music, only perfect symphony.
Mother finally leaves the room and Pyotr stands up, picking up his copy of War and Peace and flipping to a random page. He always enjoys looking through the book. A well-written novel flows like a piece of music. He reads the quote his finger lands on, his voice wavering as he softly says it out loud. "Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the company of intelligent women… bah!"
He places the novel on the small table next to the window and walks out in disgust, messing up his dark brown hair as he mutters angry curses to himself that he's learnt from several other students at the observatory, many of them creative enough to disguise them as witty insults. God's always out to get him a wife these days, not anything else, even if that's not what Pyotr desires. Then again, he's supposed to be damned to hell. Maybe it's the Lord's way of trying to lift him out of the depths of the furnace.
But Pyotr can't take that help. Not when he's so damaged in the eyes of that cruel God up in the heavens, who likely thinks it's funny to curse people with yearnings that they aren't allowed to pursue and then punish them if they do. How could Pyotr be helped by such a person? How could he be saved by them?
He walks towards into the hallway where the Petrovsky family bedrooms are located and turns towards the living room, flinching as he hears a gunshot from outside. It's unlikely, but there's always the fear that it's one of the people he loves. He can't lose any of them. He wouldn't be able to live if he lost Mother, or Father, or even one of the twins. He's grown attached to both Anton and Anna, even if he struggles against Mother's attempts to match him with Anna.
Mother calls from the other side of the house to him, her voice containing a note of what Pyotr identifies as nervousness. "Don't look out of the window, Pyotr. I don't want you to draw the attention of anyone out there, especially a German soldier. You know what they did to my sister."
Pyotr remembers last week when his aunt came stumbling into the house with dishevelled garments and babbling about how she had been touched by Germans, yanked into an ally… and thrown out when they were finished with her. No, he won't draw the attention of any Germans out in the streets. It's better to stay inside. It's better to stay out of sight. And out of sight of the Germans and the world he will stay, safe in these shadows, the tiny rooms that are as small as a closet.
Even if it means that he won't be able to let anyone see the real him.
Pyotr needs a lot of therapy lol
Anyways, another chapter! Technically in less than two months! Score! And I think it's pretty good, and hopefully you do to! Leave a review so that I know who's still here, and I hope you enjoyed this fun little chapter. Only five more intros to go! Yay! I'm hoping to get another one out in November, but we know what happened the last time I said that XD let's hope for the end of the year!
Until then, TheAmazingJAJ