Clotilde's arms were tied to her bedposts. She was struggling futilely, trying to break free. "Please, not like this," She groaned.

In response all she got was harsh, callow laughter, and a gloved hand creeping around her fragile neck…

Clotilde jolted up in bed. Her blood was pounding through her body, and a cold sweat had formed on her forehead. It was the first nightmare, or rather flashback, she had experienced since the Germans had left.

She slid out of bed and staggered across the bedroom floor to her washbasin, where she tried to splash some water on her face, she lifted a bar of soap only for it to slip out of her trembling hand.

Harsh laughter, a certain uniform, a throbbing pain between her legs…

Clotilde shut her eyes tight and shuddered. Memories were coming to her inexplicably, some more brutal than others, but all had the same crushing effect on her. The elation she had experienced when the Nazis left was slipping away from her, only to be replaced with the terrible, dark feeling that they had taken something from her; they had damaged her very humanity.

Marie didn't know why she went to O-. Deep down, she wanted to follow the Nazis, to act out her plan for revenge. Only her good sense and loyalty to Marie was holding her back.

Reaching the Main Street of O- the doubts began to converge on her, and reluctantly she acknowledged that her plan was pure folly; she would have to go home. However, by now it was lunchtime, and Marie wanted something to eat.

She spotted a café at the corner of the street and made her way towards it. She peered in, and seeing it was full of Nazi officers turned away quickly, only to collide with a young Wehrmacht soldier.

"Oh, excuse me, Mademoiselle!"

"I'm sorry," said Marie, and turned to leave.

The young man smiled, and answered, "No, that's alright. If only more beautiful girls bumped into me!"

Marie went bright red. She had never experienced male attention of this nature before, and it only had the effect of making her embarrassed. She looked up at the young man (he certainly was a young man, there was something innocent, baby like in his face.) She smiled, and said awkwardly, "Well, it's nice to meet you, but I must go home."

The young man looked slightly disappointed, but asked, "Would you like to get a coffee?" hopefully, and indicated the café with his hand.

Marie was considering refusing, and the young man could see that. His expression became stern and threatening, and Marie, beginning to become afraid readily assented.

Sitting at a table in the middle of the café, he asked, "So, what's your name?"

"Marie. Marie Rousseau. You?"

"Sigmund. Sigmund Wader."

Marie smiled, and said amicably, "Sigmund – like the psychologist…oh, what's his name?" Her question was rhetorical, but he answered.

"Freud? The Jew?" He said sternly, and sighed heavily, pursing his lips.

Marie became pale, and averted her eyes. She had made a serious Faux Pas.

"So, do you live in O-?"

"No, in B-."

"Oh? May I ask why you're here? B-…. I heard the SS passed through there recently-"

"Yes." Marie said suddenly. She became aware that her hand had started to shake.

The young man raised an eyebrow, but continued, "I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that group though, the stories I've heard about their Colonel…Landa I think he's called-"

"What stories would those be?" A familiar voice rang out through the café. Marie once again flushed red and sank into her seat.