Chapter 3

Sweden

The scissors feel cold in my hands, as if warning me not to go through with this idea. I'm standing in front of the bathroom mirror, everyone sound asleep, not one person awake. I'm sure of it – I checked everyone's breathing, and it's all regular, people snoring and talking in their sleep. I'm glad it's one of the rare nights where everyone is asleep; it's nice and peaceful. Only one bed is empty, and it is mine. I hope nobody notices. They'll probably think it's always been empty – sometimes people leave. They're transferred to other dorms, for some reason or another. I could have just been one of the transfers, and they'll never see me again.

The first strand of hair falls to the ground, landing like a feather, making no sound and floating down elegantly before landing on the tiles of the bathroom floor. My first mistake. But it doesn't feel like a mistake, I feel freer and more in control than I have ever felt before. I can do whatever I please now – it's my hair, my life, my emotions. Nobody else can toy with such things, because they're mine. More locks of hair fall, and I cut. The sound of snipping is the only thing I can hear, in the dead of the night, silence ringing out – of course, it doesn't ring out, because it's silence. Silence makes no sound. Or does it?

I shake my head. Now's not the time for philosophical thoughts, nor ever. I don't have time to ponder on these things. I snip even more, half my head of hair cut to a standard boy's haircut, with a fringe. As I start on the other half, my trembling fingers reach and unclasp the Nordic Cross which is pinning my long strands of light blonde hair behind my ear. I place it carefully on the sink, and smile down at it. Even though I am recognisable wearing the cross, I can't not wear it. I remember it belonged to my mother once – each one of us has a Nordic Cross somewhere. Whether it be a bracelet with it attached, or a necklace or anklet or a hair accessory like mine, we all have some representation of a Nordic Cross somewhere.

The pile of hair builds up until I look in the mirror and see my new style. It's a good cut; strange, as I have never cut my own hair before. I have trimmed it, but never cut so much off at once. It compliments my face perfectly, and once I'm changed into some male clothes I should look fine. I don't know how I'm going to find male clothes, but for now I need to have my hair looking as feminine as possible. I mess around with it until I look like a proper girl, and pin one side back behind my ear as usual. It just seems like an innocent haircut – a lot of girls have their hair cut short. It's allowed as it makes some chores easier and some girls just have such long hair they get sick of it and just chop it all off. They used to have a rule on how short you could go but that rule was abolished and we now have free reign over what our hair looks like, as long as it doesn't inconvenience us. I clean up the hair, head back to my bed and climb in. I'll talk to Tino and Berwald tomorrow, and see if I can get them in on the plan – I hate dragging others into this, but Tino is my only hope, and if I need Tino on my side Berwald will follow. So I need both of them to make this work.

The morning is quieter than usual, and I sit up. Naturally, people's eyes shift to my new hairstyle. I forgot to take the pin out last night as I usually do, so I take it out and slot it back in, a little neater. And, for the first time in a few days, someone directly speaks to me.

"Why did you cut your hair? It was so beautiful."

"It got in the way, and I like this one far better." I look at them and smile, but they're not impressed. The girl, who as I guessed had very long hair, tumbling down nearly to her waist, folded her arms.

"I don't," she says.

"I don't care about what you think," I say sweetly, my voice laced with venom over the initial kindness. "It's my hair. My decision."

"You look kinda like a boy," one of them sniggers, and I glare at them.

"Nice observation." I turn away from them and take my bag out from under my bed. We all have our own suitcase-like bags to keep everything in. I take out my towel and shower cap and head to the showers. We don't have to have a shower schedule, but we made one at the start of the new dorm arrangements, and it's nailed on the back of the door. Eight o'clock sharp is my time to get in the shower, as well as three others. We have to keep our showers quick because there are lots of people in here, and showers pace out from six o'clock to nine o'clock.

In the showers, I head behind a curtain and hang the towel up, gathering my short head of hair up into the cap and folding my clothes up, placing them somewhere they won't get wet. My bag is outside, the change of clothes in it for afterwards. I have a robe at the ready as well for when I'm done drying. It's a daily routine, and it was complicated at first, but now I know it by heart. I can shower and dress in five minutes, easily. Unless I'm washing my hair, but we only do that on Sundays and sometimes Fridays. It depends on our Friday schedule, which changes often.

The water runs down my body and I tilt my head back, the water splashing onto it. I squeeze my eyes shut and before I know it, the shower is over. I wrap the towel around my body and dry off, then change into my everyday clothes as quickly as I can. I get all my stuff together and leave the shower rooms so someone else can go in and use the shower, and I return to the dorm. Like some kind of robot, I'm following the daily routine; day in, day out, the exact same until we're 'freed' from this place. Although we'll never truly be freed. Girls won't. Boys will be free, free to sail the seas and see tons of sights or be merchants selling all over the world or soldiers fighting in foreign lands. Jobs for the brave-hearted, and ours are jobs for the domestic women. Domestic. I'm not like that.

We head down to breakfast and I spot Tino and Berwald sitting at the same table we sat at yesterday. Lots of girls go and talk to the boys when they can, so it doesn't draw attention when I take a seat on their table after greeting them and Tino inviting me to sit.

"I like your new hair, Elsie. It's really cool," Tino smiles, and I look at him in surprise.

"Really? The feedback I've received so far hasn't exactly been friendly," I say, laughing lightly, trying to make a joke out of it. Berwald looks at me, and there's some kind of weird aura radiating off him that makes me squeal slightly and jump back. "B-But it's okay! Thank you for the compliment." I bow my head to Tino and Berwald relaxes in his seat a little.

"So you two are researching the war?" I ask them, curiosity winning me over and coming out in my words. Tino and Berwald exchange glances and Tino nods, Berwald sighing before turning to me.

"Yes," he says. "We have been for years now."

Tino smiles. "It's really interesting, and we're thinking of joining the military to learn a bit more about how the war works and what weapons they use and the type of training. But Berwald is kind of against me going…"

Berwald turns and stares at Tino. "The military is dangerous. You could get hurt."

I smile at them both. Tino is very brave, despite his looks – is he really that determined to join the military? "I would like to join the military as well. But I'm a girl, so that career option is unavailable. Unless…unless you two would like to help me with something?" It's now or never. If they say no, you're doomed.

"O-Oh? Help with what?" Tino asks curiously.

"I didn't just cut my hair for a change," I say, twirling a lock of hair around my index finger. "I cut it so I could look more like a boy. If I could get you two on my side, I could have boy's clothing. Then…" I switch my voice to a low whisper so nobody can hear, even though I'm sure nobody heard the last part. "I could dress like a boy and join the military."

The two of them gasp, and look at one another. "Are you sure…?" Tino asks, and Berwald raises an eyebrow. They look at me strangely, as if I'm some kind of weird creature.

"I am sure," I nod. "I'm determined. I want to know what it's like to be out there and fighting, and to be worth something instead of serving some old man in a large mansion. I can't cook, I can't clean and I can't sew, and I am not even going to think about the other career options. But I can fight – I was taught by someone before I was taken here." I remember him, one of the Canadians back when we were being kept in their territory. He was my father figure, and I used to train with him and he taught me a ton of fighting styles and tricks. I learned self-defence thanks to him, but it was all in vain. What use is fighting to a little girl?

"I see," Berwald says, and looks up at me. "You seem pretty fixated on this idea, Elsie, but how well have you planned it?"

"Well, I cut my hair, for starters. I'm thinking that if one of you can do anything about getting your hands on some male clothes, I can dress like a male. I'm sure I could pass as one. Then, if there's a spare bed in your dorms, I can try sleeping there. If I play my cards right, I can just about manage in there. And then I can escape to the military with you both. I want to be worth something, as I've already stated. And I'm sure this is the way to go."

There's something in Tino's eyes that I can't quite decipher, some kind of emotion or something. I stare at him quizzically, but the look disappears after a few moments. "You sound like you've planned it well." He smiles. "Well, Berwald? Shall we help Elsie?"

"Hmm…"

"Hey, don't call me Elsie. That name is too girly for a boy." I smile at them both and Tino laughs.

"What's your name then?"

I think about this for a moment. I remember back to the awful day when my eldest brother was shot. His name…his name was Lukas. I look up at them with a confident look on my face. "My new name is Lukas. Lukas Bondevik." I don't know where the last name came from, but it sounds familiar. I shake my head – I must just be imagining things.

"Okay, Lukas," Tino smiles, and Berwald nods with a slight grunt. I look at them both, surprised they aren't judging me. I finish the last of my food and stand up from the table.

"I don't know how the plan is going to work and when it's going to be put into play, but I'm glad I have your support. I'll see you soon," I say, and then rush off without waiting for a response. I've always filtered my words, making sure to pay attention to what I am saying, so I don't usually speak from the heart. But that came from the heart; I just hope they are on board with my plan. If not, I better get ready for a lifetime of being a domestic servant.

Because what woman doesn't want to be imprisoned within some rich bastard's home and forced to work from six o'clock at dawn to ten o'clock at night until they're worn out and exhausted?

I guess it's just me who hasn't become accustomed to such things. Of course it has to be me.