I know (some) authentic German, Mutti is "mother", Vater is "father", and Bruder is "brother". Just in case you couldn't figure it out on your own.
Prompt: Cliché.
Rip's eyes were huge as she clung to her elderly father, watching the characters play out the drama upon the stage.
Reality was temporarily swept away, and she gasped in horror as Zamiel advanced upon Caspar.
Her father had no time for coddling his children, so when he went to the opera, they came with.
This left no room for childish fantasies and fairy tales.
"Up now! In mountains and ravines
The joyful battle will rage tomorrow!"
She wriggled about in joy as she watched the two shooters compare their skills together.
"The game in meadows and pastures,
The bird of prey in clouds and breezes!"
This particular play was her most favorite of all, and it always left her feeling exhilarated, as if she herself could plunge into the forest and smite everything in her path, climbing higher and higher to the ascent of God himself.
"Is ours, and ours the victory!"
"Ist uns, und uns der Sieg, und uns der Sieg!" she whispered, following along with the beautiful words as she gripped the edges of the balcony with a white-knuckled grip.
Hers would be the victory, when she grew up and could finally hold a gun properly.
Prompt: Ribbon.
"Mutti! Mutti!"
Rip rushed down the stairs, twirling to show her mother the bright blue ribbon in her hair.
"Look what sister gave me!"
Her mother looked up and smiled, making the little girl beam.
"It looks lovely Rip. Why don't you go show it to your friends?"
"Okay!"
The child scuttled down the steps, her blue-black hair tied back by the sky-blue ribbon.
The sun shone brightly as she pattered down the cobblestone street, and even the flowers seemed to be brighter in her childlike joy.
"Carlos! Liese! Look at my new-"
She skidded to a halt, her growing hair billowing to a halt a few seconds later.
Everyone in the town was huddled around a sign on a lamppost, and she wriggled through the crowd, wanting to see what everyone else was staring at when they could have been staring at her new ribbon.
Whispers echoed around her.
"A war?"
"A "great war"?"
"Soldiers are going to come to the town?"
"Is my son is going to be sent away?"
Rip's childlike blue eyes looked up at the notice that had created so much dismay in the townsfolk. Her brother was already reading it, his mouth tight.
Gingerly, she took his hand, somehow needing the reassurance, even though she was going on ten.
"Bruder…is something wrong?"
Her voice was trembling. She knew something was wrong when he didn't respond instantly.
Finally he looked down and attempted a smile that was more like a grimace, gently squeezing her hand.
"Nothing's wrong libeling. Where did you get such a pretty new ribbon?"
She had already forgotten all about the ribbon.
It wasn't important anymore.
Prompt: Renaissance.
Rip was an odd child.
Her father had taken her to an art hall once, and she had stared for a full minute at the fantastic paintings before her before speaking.
"What do you think I would look like as a painting, vater?"
She turned, but he was already gone, speaking with his enlightened associates.
She looked back up at the paintings, and her eyes traced to one where the figure was madly grinning, teeth sharp and silver, holding a musket outstretched, enemies falling before them.
She imagined herself in the place of that person.
Her hair would be long instead of short, swirling about her like an elegant bluish-black tracery.
Her fingers, white and long, would grip the polished stock of her beloved gun as a mother would cradle her child.
Her teeth, sharp and white, would bare themselves in a wolfish grin.
Her body, an adult's, would stand tall and proud as she slaughtered her enemies, clothed in black and blue.
Red would swirl around her, the blood of her prey, flowing in rivers before her feet.
"Rip van Winkle!"
She blinked, looking at her father as he snapped his fingers impatiently, his face irritated, as if he had called he several times.
"Coming vater!"
She snuck one last look at the painting before she scampered away.
She thought she would have made a much better model than the one in the painting.