Trae
1942
Today marked my 16th birthday, and I was with my father and Uncles getting Diva ready for her awakening. This will be the second time I've ever come to face her since I was four years of age. Father is not fond of me being around her, but Uncle Amshel and Uncle Nathan insisted that Diva and I were to properly meet and have brought us here to Berlin. I walked with father down the streets, seeing varying ages of kids roaming about and selling the latest paper. As we reached the heart of Berlin, Uncle Nathan stood beneath the imposing shadows of historic buildings, his tall and slender frame exuding an air of timeless elegance. His suit is impeccably tailored, its sharp lines and broad shoulders emphasizing his statuesque silhouette. The double-breasted jacket, a deep navy blue, contrasts with his pale complexion and slicked-back blonde hair. The subtle pinstripes of his suit catch the soft evening light, adding a touch of refinement to his already sophisticated appearance. A crisp white shirt and a perfectly knotted tie complete his ensemble, while polished leather shoes reflect the cobblestones beneath his feet.
The city bustles around him, a blend of old-world charm and post-war recovery. The streets are alive with the hum of conversation, the clatter of tram wheels on cobblestones, and the distant strains of street musicians playing nostalgic tunes. When his eyes caught our approach, we stopped and father turned to me.
"Wait here for me Trae, I will speak with Nathan for only a moment." He made sure I was comfortable, the suit being new and a little stiff on me. I donned on a simple, yet neatly pressed, brown woolen coat that reaches just above my knees. The coat, though slightly oversized, is belted at the waist, giving it a more fitted look. Beneath the coat, sports a well-worn, white button-up shirt, its collar slightly frayed from frequent wear. His trousers, made of sturdy cotton, are a bit too short, revealing socks that have been darned in several places. His shoes, once polished but now scuffed from long use, are still tied with care. I wore the same hair style as father and Uncle Nathan, my hair clipped short but a little long to give a frayed look when styled, I watched father approach Uncle, and the atmosphere was cold.
I couldn't help but compare the two as father strode up to Uncle. Dressed in a pristine white suit of the same style, his attire mirrors Uncle's in its impeccable tailoring and classic elegance. The broad shoulders and cinched waist of his double-breasted jacket enhanced his tall, athletic build. Just like Uncle's, his blonde hair, slicked back in a neat, orderly fashion, contrasts sharply with the snow-white fabric of his suit. His green eyes, sharp and discerning, reflect both wisdom and authority. The subtle pinstripes of his suit catch the soft glow from the streetlamps, emphasizing the meticulous craftsmanship. A crisp white shirt and a perfectly knotted tie complete his ensemble, while polished leather shoes gleam beneath the evening light. He stands with an air of importance, exuding confidence and determination. The cold Berlin air seems to part around him, his presence commanding respect from all who pass by.
The air is cool and crisp, carrying the scent of roasting chestnuts from a nearby vendor. Standing a few feet away, shivering slightly to give the impression I was cold to the passersby. The streetlamps cast a warm, golden glow as I watched people walk by without knowing what I was, who we were by nature. And knowing nothing of a woman that could kill them on a whim, any of us really, was something I've given thought about over the years.
"Trae," hearing my father's voice carry in the wind, I approached quickly, and Uncle brought out a woolen scarf matching my attire and wrapping it snugly around my neck without saying a word. I looked at him, his eyes holding a stern expression yet softening when he styled the scarf to his liking.
"Happy birthday Trae," his voice a mix of enthusiasm and nostalgia, I felt the wool between my fingers being a little rough but appreciated the small gift. He laughed and placed a firm hand on my shoulder before leaning down. "Silly boy, this is just to complete your look. Your birthday gift from me is over there," As the crowd bustled around them, Uncle gestured toward a covered object nearby.
My curiosity piqued, I felt my eyes widening as he walked over to a covered object in the middle of the road and unveiled his gift. There, gleaming under the soft Berlin light, was a brand-new Chevrolet Special DeLuxe Fleetline Aerosedan. The car's sleek lines and polished chrome glistened, reflecting the city's vibrant atmosphere. Its deep navy-blue paint seemed to shimmer as Uncle handed the keys to me.
"Nephew," Uncle began, his voice filled with a rare warmth, "this is for you. May it take you on journeys that bring you grand adventures."
I felt my hands shake slightly as I accepted the keys and shifted my attention to the car. "Thank you, Uncle, I have no other words." My voice was barely above a whisper, merely filled with awe and gratitude for such a gift. The moment felt surreal, the Chevrolet standing as a symbol of hope and a new beginning amidst the backdrop of a city rebuilding itself. I climbed into the driver's seat, the engine's purr seemed to echo the promise of adventures yet to come. Looking to my father who wore his elegant smile at me seemed proud amidst the crowd. I revved the engine ever so slightly, letting the sound carry as I couldn't stop my smile plastered on my face.
"Thank you, Uncle!"
As I navigated the Chevrolet, the city was a mix of grandeur and turmoil. From my viewpoint, the streets were lined with buildings that bore the scars of war—some still standing tall with their baroque and neoclassical facades, others marked by the devastation of bombings. The cobblestone streets were alive with activity despite the war's shadow. People hurried along the sidewalks, their coats pulled tight against the cold, the weight of ration books and war news heavy in their minds. The streetlamps cast a warm, golden glow, fighting against the encroaching darkness of the times. Vendors sold roasted chestnuts and steaming pretzels, their cheerful chatter a comforting normalcy amidst the chaos.
My eyes took in the Reichstag building in the distance, its once-grand dome now a symbol of the turbulent political climate. Posters bearing propaganda slogans adorned the walls, urging citizens to support the war effort and stay vigilant. The air was thick with a mix of coal smoke and the distant hum of tram cars. Every turn of the wheel was a reminder of the era's challenges and resilience. The history unfolding around me was palpable—the rise of the Nazi regime, the war raging on multiple fronts, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.
"How am I supposed to take this all in? And with time passing me by like any normal day, when will my time stop? How will I continue to live in a world that constantly changes without getting myself involved?" I mused aloud, the weight of the passing years pressing heavily on my shoulders. Driving through the heart of Berlin, I couldn't help but admire the city's indomitable spirit, its people resolute despite the hardships they faced. Yet, staying out of human conflicts was no easy task, and the burden of time felt increasingly difficult to bear.
I pulled over to a secluded area ravaged by bombings, the once lively home now reduced to rubble. The scars of a family that once lived here were evident, their lives now nothing more than ash. The light from the dusty windows cast long shadows across the deserted building, creating an eerie atmosphere that mirrored my inner turmoil.
"Enjoyed your first drive?" A voice cut through the silence, and my pulse quickened slightly. I hadn't expected Amshel to emerge from the darkness. Despite the eerie setting, Amshel's polished appearance remained impeccable. His jet black hair was slicked back, and his purple suit stood out starkly against the drab surroundings. The silver ring with the sapphire stone glinted ominously in the dim light, but I failed to notice the undercurrent of tension in Amshel's demeanor, the subtle shift in his tone and the calculated gait of his walk as he approached.
"Y-yes... the car is a wonderful gift. I can't wait to drive it out in the countryside," I stammered, excitement bubbling up as I fiddled with my scarf. Another presence lingered close by, and I felt my skin prickle. Turning around, I saw her once again and felt my body stiffen.
Diva appeared like a specter of elegance and beauty, a vision that lingered in the memory long after she was gone. Her skin was a fair, almost ghostly shade, giving her an ethereal quality. Striking blue eyes, like twin sapphires, pierced through the air with haunting intensity, revealing both depth and mystery. Her long, waist-length black hair cascaded down her back, with bangs swept gracefully to the right, framing her face with an almost otherworldly perfection. She opted for simplicity in her attire, yet her dresses—always in shades of blue and white—carried an elegance that transcended time. The soft fabrics rippled gently around her, as if moved by an unseen force. Her lips, a delicate beige, were untouched by lipstick, enhancing her natural, haunting beauty. Diva was a beautiful enigma, a captivating presence that stirred both admiration and a subtle, unexplainable chill.
Yet, with all that she was, this woman—this Queen—that ruled over my father and uncle made me despise her. Because of her, my father endured pain and heartache for years. Time lost to us in the search for my own mother, to confirm whether she was alive or dead. And now, here she stood, without warning.
"Trae, Diva has awakened and wanted to greet you formally," Amshel said, coming up from behind and placing his hands on my shoulders. A feeling of dread crept through me, and I wanted to move away, but the pressure from his touch froze me still. "Diva seems interested in receiving a ride in your vehicle. How about indulging her?" Amshel spoke with a firm coldness that I should have been used to, but it somehow felt colder than usual. Without knowing what would happen if I refused, I turned to face Diva and bowed my head.
"Diva, let me offer you a ride," I said, though I wished she would never touch my car. She sauntered over quietly, her fingers cupped under my chin as she raised my face to look up at her.
"You've grown," she spoke with a peculiar tone I had not heard from her before. I didn't know why, but the look in her eyes frightened me. It wasn't normal, and I felt my body shiver at her touch. Quickly, I evaded more of her touch and adjusted my lapel and scarf as I made my way to the car.
The ride felt suffocating, the silence between us heavy with unspoken tension. My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as I navigated the war-torn streets. Diva's presence beside me was unnerving, her gaze fixed on me with an unsettling intensity.
"You remind me so much of Solomon," she said softly, her voice carrying a strange mix of nostalgia and longing. She reached out, her fingers brushing against my arm. I flinched at the contact, the years of anger and resentment bubbling to the surface.
"Please, don't," I muttered, my voice strained. But Diva seemed undeterred by my discomfort, her grip tightening as she moved closer.
"Why must you resist?" she murmured, her tone almost pleading in a way. "You have the same potential, the same strength. You could be so much more."
"More?" I scoffed, my anger flaring. "More like you? Like Uncle Amshel? No, thank you."
Diva's expression darkened, a flash of frustration crossing her features. In a sudden fit of anger, she lashed out, her hand striking the dashboard with enough force to crack it. The car shuddered under the impact, and I struggled to maintain control.
"If you won't join me willingly, then perhaps I'll have to take what I want," she hissed, her eyes blazing with an unnatural light.
Desperation gripped me as I realized the precariousness of my situation. "Diva, stop! You'll destroy the car!" But my plea fell on deaf ears. Diva's tantrum grew more violent, her hands clawing at the interior, leaving deep gouges in the upholstery. My heart pounded in my chest as I wrestled with the steering wheel, trying to keep us on the road. As the car swerved, I glanced at Diva, her face twisted in anger and frustration. The intensity in her eyes sent a shiver down my spine, and I could feel the heat of her wrath radiating from her. Despite my fear, I summoned the courage to speak.
"Diva, please, this isn't the way," I pleaded, my voice trembling. "You can't force me to be something I'm not."
Her gaze softened for a moment, and she seemed to consider my words. But the moment passed quickly, and her anger flared once more. "You don't understand, Trae. You have so much potential, so much to offer. Why do you insist on resisting?"
My knuckles whitened as I gripped the steering wheel, trying to maintain control of the car. "Because I won't be a pawn in your games," I replied, my voice steady despite the fear that gripped me. "I won't be like my Uncle's, or like you."
Diva's eyes narrowed, and she leaned closer, her breath hot against my ear. "You think you have a choice?" she whispered, her voice cold and menacing. "You belong to me, just as your father does, Amshel, Nathan, everyone belongs to me."
A surge of anger welled up within me, and I turned to face her, my eyes blazing with defiance. "No, I don't," I spat, my voice filled with conviction. "I belong to myself."
For a moment, Diva seemed taken aback by my outburst. Then, with a sudden, violent motion, she struck the dashboard once more, the impact sending a spiderweb of cracks across the glass. The car shuddered, and I struggled to keep it on the road.
"Fine," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "If you won't join me willingly, then perhaps I'll just take what I want by force."
Desperation clawed at me as I realized the gravity of the situation. "Diva, please," I implored, my voice desperate. "You'll destroy everything."
But Diva's rage knew no bounds, and she continued to lash out, her hands tearing at the interior of the car. The once pristine vehicle was now a chaotic mess, the upholstery shredded, and the dashboard cracked beyond repair.
In a final, desperate attempt to regain control, I slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt. The sudden stop jolted both of us, and for a moment, silence hung heavy in the air.
Panting, I turned to Diva, my heart pounding in my chest. "This isn't the way," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "You can't force me to be what you want."
Diva's eyes bore into mine, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something else—something vulnerable. But it was quickly masked by her usual veneer of cold detachment.
"Perhaps you're right," she said quietly, her voice barely audible. "But know this, Trae—you can't escape from me. One way or another, you will belong to me, body and soul."
With that, she stepped out of the car, leaving me alone in the wrecked vehicle. The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, and I knew that my struggle was far from over.