February 1918

"What on Earth is this?" Elisabeth grimaced at the crumpled envelope that had just been thrown haphazardly over the kitchen counter.

"The week's wages," Manuela announced with a proud smile.

"And why is it soaking into my pea soup?"

The younger woman scrambled to pick up the proffered object, and quickly checked the integrity of its content.

"Sorry," she chuckled.

Elisabeth rolled her eyes indulgently and turned her attention back to the chopping board in front of her.

"Will you give me a hand, please? I'm running behind."

"Absolutely," Manuela said. She slid behind the woman and seized her hips with brash enthusiasm.

"This was not the sort of hand I was thinking of."

"Oh? It's the first one that came to mind," the actress replied, allowing said hand to roam slightly higher.

"Manuela, I am making dinner."

"No, you are not."

Before she could protest, the knife Elisabeth was holding was snatched from her and carefully placed back down on the counter.

"Very well. What has gotten into you, then?" she asked, turning into Manuela's embrace and letting her arms hook behind her neck quite naturally.

"No cooking tonight. I'm taking you out."

This made Elisabeth's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Whatever for?"

"Because we deserve it. Because I want to. And most importantly, because we don't need a reason."

"But this is almost ready…"

Manuela leant forward and kissed her softly on the lips, partly to shush her, and partly because she could hardly restrain herself.

"Then, it will be waiting for us tomorrow evening. You will get to take some time for yourself, for a change, instead of having to play the doting housewife. Isn't that just splendid?"

"Manuela, I don't think this is wise…"

"Schatz," the younger woman said patiently, tugging at the ribbons of Elisabeth's apron so it fell loose around her waist. "Please, do look inside this envelope. And then change into something nice, and let me take you out for dinner."

Barely an hour later, they were both facing each other and enjoying what was probably the most delicious, and equally expensive meal of their lives. Well, one of them, at least, was enjoying it. Elisabeth, for her part, was shifting uncomfortably in her seat as she watched Manuela take eager bites without a care in the world. They had walked past this restaurant countless of times on their way to and from home, but the very idea of eating there had never even crossed their minds until tonight. Elisabeth allowed herself to subtly glance over at the elegant round tables, each decorated with fresh flowers, and at the equally chic clientele. She looked back down at herself, feeling unusually underdressed and self-conscious in spite of having donned her Sunday best for the occasion.

"This is nonsensical," she murmured to herself.

"That you have barely eaten anything? I'll say," Manuela said, pointing towards Elisabeth's almost untouched plate. "Is the fish not good? We can order something else."

"The fish is delicious, as it ought to be for something worth a whole month of fresh produce."

Manuela straightened in her seat. She carefully patted her mouth with her napkin, looking every bit the graceful, well-bred girl Elisabeth remembered from her days at boarding school. "What is it, then?"

"Has it occurred to you that there might be a catch to this sudden increase of income?"

"A catch? There's no catch," Manuela asserted, inflexible and final. "The theatre has a new owner, a generous one, at that. Great news for us. Why would I torment myself over this?"

Elisabeth ignored the question, determined to enquire further. "What did Gerhardt have to say about it?"

"He was livid, because he is an old hand, allergic to change of any kind. He says he doesn't want to take orders from some, and I quote, 'uncultured newly rich who has no idea what to do with his money'. He's afraid it might muzzle our creativity, or some gibberish akin to it."

"I'm glad to see it doesn't worry you, however."

"Not in the least, no. These so-called ignorant benefactors have the power to save companies like ours, make them thrive. It happens all the time, really. It may seem dubious to you is because you're not from this world," Manuela retorted hotly and then, she realised the implication of what she had just said. "I don't mean…"

"No, I understand," the older woman cut, a little too sharply. "I don't know anything about these things, after all."

Manuela reached over to take her hand in hers, and Elisabeth let her.

"I didn't mean to offend you, darling," she assured again. "I simply don't want to overthink it. We have enough to worry about as it is. Is this wrong of me?"

Elisabeth finally met Manuela's eyes, and as always, she was won over by the sincerity she found there. "No. I suppose it's not," she conceded, giving her hand one final squeeze before she chastely withdrew hers.

"This place reminds me of a restaurant my father used to take us on Sundays," Manuela then said, after a moment and out of the blue. Elisabeth smiled fondly at the young woman's ability to make heavy conversations take a more pleasant turn quite effortlessly.

"You do seem to be perfectly in your element."

"Ah! I always knew you had a soft spot for women who could properly use a fish knife," the actress laughed and was pleased when Elisabeth joined in.

"Not all of them," Elisabeth specified, leaning forward as her voice dropped an octave lower. "Mostly the mysterious kind I also have to berate daily for swearing like a trooper or eating with their mouth open. But Mademoiselle Aubert's classes seem to have paid off, after all."

"Oh please! Everything I know about good manners I owe to my mother, certainly not Mademoiselle Aubert. She was a very lenient woman, but she was adamant on teaching us proper etiquette from a very young age."

A cloud of sadness fell upon her brow and they both turned silent for a moment, turning their attention back to their plates.

"She did a fine job," Elisabeth breathed out suddenly, searching for Manuela's eyes. "Your mother. She would be proud."

"I wonder, sometimes…" she admitted, her broken smile making Elisabeth's heart throb painfully. "I have idolised my parents for so long, since I lost them young and I've never seen them be anything but kind to me. But I don't know how they would see me now."

"Exactly the same as they did, and I am sure they adored you."

"I truly believe they did," Manuela said, still smiling. "It didn't last nearly long enough, but we have been very happy."

This time, it was Elisabeth's turn to reach out and place her hand over Manuela's, no longer caring about being appropriate.

"I'm not sad," Manuela specified with a wet chuckle that suggested the exact opposite.

"But of course, not!" the older woman teased gently, and allowed her thumb to brush over Manuela's knuckles. Then, almost timidly, she ventured, "Do you ever think of… going back home? Someday?"

"Home?"

"To Potsdam…"

Manuela blinked, seeming utterly confused. "Why on Earth would I want to go back?"

"I- I… Because this is our homeland."

"It doesn't mean anything anymore though, does it? We don't have anyone left there."

"But Bertram is -"

"Bertram is dead," Manuela bit back, and the horror behind her words left Elisabeth gaping in shock.

"You don't know that!"

The actress shook her head, and gritted her teeth in an excruciating attempt to keep the tears away.

"I've made my peace with it."

"Manuela, how can you say something like that?" Elisabeth exclaimed, squeezing the captive hand so hard that her nails almost pierced through the skin.

Manuela did not seem to notice nor care. With her free hand, she reached for a cigarette and brought it to her lips. She lit it with trembling fingers and took a long drag, closing her eyes and inhaling shakily, as she always did whenever she needed to collect herself and think before speaking her mind. Elisabeth, ever conflicted when it came to Manuela –and quite frankly, most things in life- despised these antics as much as she was in love with them.

Finally, Manuela reclined back in her seat. "I have cried enough tears for him," she started, the smoke coming out of her mouth in hypnotising waves of white. "I have cried for all of them. For Alfred. For my parents. If Berti is not dead by now, which is unlikely, he might as well be lying in a hospital bed, forever crippled, or rotting in a cell God knows where. Either way I will never get to see my brother again.

Elisabeth wanted to protest. Surely these catastrophic outcomes Manuela was enumerating were not the only possibilities. But the young woman's burning gaze locked on hers, almost defiant, and again, she was stunned into silence.

"This is what our homeland does to people, Elisabeth. Turning boys into cannon fodder and girls into their willing slaves, for as long as they manage to stay alive, that is."

"This is not all there is to it…" Elisabeth argued feebly.

"Is it not? Where do you think I would be if we'd stayed there? And where would you be? I can't possibly miss a place that destroyed everyone I love and could have as well destroyed us. Aren't we happy here?"

"I –yes…"

"We are free. And we're so lucky of never having to go back!"

Again Elisabeth was unable to articulate her thoughts, and she looked away in panic. She understood Manuela's feelings all too well and she was not surprised to finally hear her voice it. But she could not ignore the stifling anguish that bubbled within her at the implication. They would never go back. They would never stroll along the alleys of the Parkanlage Sanssouci together, nor get to lay in the grass, bathed in the late summer sun by the Jungfernsee. These times were over, for eternity. At this moment, Elisabeth came to the shocking realization that what she had always thoughtlessly considered a mere parenthesis in her life had become her actual life along the way, and she had absolutely had no say in it any longer. She felt like a mouse in a trap. Foolish, because she had entered of her own volition. Hopeless, because she had no way out. Suddenly, she was no longer able to breathe. She looked at Manuela for help, and noticed that she was talking to her, her face growing more alarmed by the second. But she could not hear a single word, nothing apart from deafening silence. She could not reply to whatever Manuela was saying. Before long, she felt herself slip away, and as she yielded, everything turned black.