[Discontinued] Hiding her Beauty ch.3

I cracked my eyes open to see the morning light had barely touched the windowsill yet. My clock still read almost thirty minutes before I had to be up for breakfast. The events that would follow were ones I wasn't looking forward to, even with my elder brother to keep me company with the constant chatter of his girlfriend.

Speaking of Anya, the woman was standing beside the stove, a shallow pan of oil, popping and hissing as she dropped a delicate scoop of batter into the frying pan. She seemed to be making breakfast for Gilbert and me. It still amazed me that she was in love with my brother, the irresponsible, cocky and loud man was hardly fit for such a generous woman such as Anya. Although, in a way I'm grateful to Gil for dating her; otherwise I would still be dragging him back home after partying too much on a Saturday.

But lately I've had another reason to thank her. It's not really something new, but something I only recently began to notice how it affected even me. Ever since my brother started dating her, sometimes when we returned home and I would settle in my room or even in the living room with them to read a book; Anya would snuggle up to Gil and sing softly to him. I've always been aware of just how beautiful her voice was when she sang in her native tongue, or even when she sang in her nervous German; it didn't matter the language, the simplistic beauty of that sound that would roll off her lips was something I couldn't deny. It was like the morning's bird, out on its branch announcing the sun's arrival to the world with its sweet song. Her voice could match any bird's though, the notes that fell from her lips were something I had never recognized the true effect of though.

It was last night, after dinner that I made the discovery. I had drawn back to my room to read a book, but, as I read all I could hear was the cries, the screams, the pleads, all those people…Each of their voices, each small whisper for help, for hope; all of it was echoing in my head. The voices bounced around, endlessly clawing at the inside of my mind. Nothing would quiet them, not the radio, not reading, not writing, and not watching out the window. It was like a terrible curse that couldn't be lifted.

And it was driving me absolutely mad.

People don't truly understand just how insane a man can become when doing something he hates with all his heart. But, only then does he realize just what a coward he is. It's only when he comes to terms with that; does that happen. The voices, sometimes when I even blinked I could see their faces, contorted with terror and such intense sadness. As if the voices weren't enough.

It seemed as though being locked in my room was making it worse. As though the ruckus they were making in my head wasn't enough for them. Now they have to escape through his ears and fill up the previously empty air with their shrieks. The walls seemed to become smaller and the room became congested with their sound. All of the images, the noise, the screams, all of it! It was echoing, resonating through my head, all around me, cloaking me in a cocoon of misery. My heart felt heavy, surely made of metal, unable to be penetrated by the voices. But able to allow them to attach as magnets and weigh it down enough to anchor me to my desk.

Everything seemed dark, death and terror all around me. I tried to escape to the window, throwing it open in hopes they would leak out there, mingle with the silent night air there and leave me alone.

But when I did, nothing happened. The voices continued to pound at my ears and pressure my head. The ever gray sky of the city was of no help with emptying them from the room. But then it hit me; of course it can't leave that easily. The air outside was already completely drenched with the miserable cries of the people living here already. All the people scurrying to their homes, holding ration books in their coat pocket, hoping they won't be caught after curfew. All of their melancholy was already filling the air like smoke trapped in a sealed room.

Finally, with the voices about to drive me insane, I fled the sanctity of my room and wandered towards the kitchen. They seemed to follow me though, like a curious poltergeist; determined to haunt me.

I poured myself a glass of water and drank it in one long gulp. After quickly washing it and placing it back in the cupboard I turned and glanced out towards the living room. I could see Anya sitting on the couch with Gilbert. His feet were off the side of the couch, his head resting on her lap. The woman sat with her legs curled, her feet beside his shoulder and her hands running through his latticework of silver locks.

From where I stood her lips seemed to be moving, slowly though. Her words weren't English, and not German. She must have been talking to herself, or trying to teach Gilbert Russian again. But it didn't seem to fit a conversational pace.

I moved to the doorway quietly, the voices followed like a loyal dog, still hissing and shrieking in my ear. I pressed my shoulder against the wooden frame and moved a hand up to rub my throbbing temple. As soon as I had moved within hear shot of them; something seemed to stop. A sweet sound echoed through the room and slipped through my ears and swirled in my mind. The voices seemed to begin to fade, their sounds begin to lose their volume and fall away. My heart seemed to rise back into place, but only so it could listen intently. The voices seemed captivated as well. The phantom of their sounds seemed to stop and turn his head; just so he could hear the beautiful melody that was falling from her lips.

Anya sat there, stroking my brother's hair softly and singing in Russian a song I didn't really recognize. The lyrics, I didn't know what meant. But, what I didn't understand most of all, was why it made me relax so much.

Her voice a mother's heart beat to an infant, the night looming outside seemed to lighten the slightest bit as the melody filled the air. Anya's song was sweet and soft, a beckon of comfort in such a gloomy place. The warm feeling that wrapped around me and kept the voices away lingered long after I crawled back into bed and fell asleep.

But then in the morning light I sat, watching through the crack in the door as she swayed to the beat of an unheard song. She was neatly dressed for being so early, yet there she was, cooking as though the sun was out and smiling upon the world, instead of the gray clouds and gloomy smog that blanketed the city.

After a few minutes of her shuffling the food around the pan and stopping a few times to scoop some of the small, thick pancakes off the pan and onto a plate nearby, Gilbert appeared in the kitchen. He was in his usual morning state, his silvery hair unkempt and his clothing disheveled. My brother moved across the kitchen in an almost stealthy manner, which I didn't even know was possible for him. But soon enough he had snuck up on Anya and had snaked his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. A smile grew tugged on her lips and her entire face seemed to light up with glee. The giggle that shook her was light and free, so different from all the nervous laughs I was used to hearing from everyone around me.

The whole scene was foreign to me, something I never thought was possible in the midst of such a bloody time. But if Anya had such a voice that could keep away the haunting voices, it'd only make sense that she would be the one to stand in a kitchen, swaying with a uncharacteristically gentle Prussian embracing her from behind, making breakfast like a mother for two soldiers trapped on the wrong side of the war.

Gilbert moved his head onto her shoulder, nuzzling her neck for a moment before turning a bit to study the pan. A sincere smile was painted delicately on his features. Anya dropped her free hand to stroke the pale skin of his arm, sliding up to his hand to tangle their fingers. It was as though the world had faded, leaving only them.

What must that be like? What did that feel like? To have the whole world just disappear, the whole war just vanish; with one embrace from the one you love? I had never been one for dating so the whole situation that morning made me very confused. Sure, I read some romance books Anya had recommended to me because of the adventure or mystery, but they never went through what it was like to be loved, or to love somebody. Honestly the idea terrified me; being tied to someone emotionally. And with an emotion that I had only heard to be so powerful too! In my mind at least, I felt like it would make me a prisoner to my heart. That my 'love' for a simple person would turn me into a weak man whose only motivation was their lover.

It wasn't even possible; no simple human being could love a monster like me. Nor could I the monster; love a simple human being.

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I had to admit, the air in Italy really was quite different than Germany. Back in my homeland, the skies were gray and the world seemed to smell like smoke and bombs. But in Italy, it still smelled like spices and the sky was definitely brighter, although, it did seemed slightly tinted darkly. Even so, I forced myself into the thinking that the sky there really was as cheery as I had first thought.

Although, the world couldn't really stop from becoming slightly dark as we marched through the streets to a house in the distance. Beside us off the road was a glittering canal, although it lacked gondolas and the carefree people I had always heard about. Instead an occasional person was seen then quickly ducked away into the scenery, melting back into the background as though desperately hoping we weren't after them.

Everything felt as though the color was falling away, the world was suddenly only a grayscale. The war had seemed to take all the vibrant beautiful places and people and tucked them away, in a far away room where no one would see them. It left the world blank and dull, nothing but the color of blood was allowed to stay, all other colors were gone. This terrible bloody red on my armband, it remained with the symbol that made me feel physically sick to my stomach. Those terrible lines, the bent, crooked sign that could only represent death. Although, it really was designed to look like the cross had been bent. For a moment, I realized just how appropriate it was, they would take the thing so many died on, including a man I had heard only simple whisperings of in the winds near the churches. I may not have known much, but they always said he was innocent; just like the people I see daily. These people I see dying around me.

At that moment I wanted to rip the armband off, but instead I turned my eyes back down to my feet, watching them snap to march in the beat the rest of the troop had set. But there was no color except that accursed monochrome color scheme. The streets I marched on; they were gray. My uniform that was once a green color, that color was no more, no, now it was gray. The sky was a cold gray. The buildings were gray. My subordinate's faces were gray. Their hair was gray. Their eyes were gray. The water was gray. Everything was painted the same color.

It was all gray.

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Feliciana watched her grandfather anxiously, tugging at seam of the apron she wore. He stood at the window; watching out of a careful crack in the black out curtains. The silence in the room was making the young Italian girl nervous; her Grandfather was never like this.

It had been almost been a whole day since Lovina had left Italy bound for America. Over the course of that twenty four hours Feliciana had been her normal self, albeit a bit sad when the thought of her sister's absence returned to her. She had managed to make the meals as usual and keep the house tidy. She had just finished making pasta for their meager dinner when a strange sound, like rain beating in time with itself began to reach their ears. Feliciana had the intention to ignore it, but her Nonno had immediately popped up and taken the position at the window, like a sniper readying his gun.

"N-Nonno? What is it? You don't like the pasta?" Feli asked as she curled her fingers around the fabric of the apron, wringing it nervously. Her gaze moved back quickly to the plate abandoned on the table at the place he had been sitting previously.

The man remained beside the window, raising his index finger to his lips towards Feli. Then he squinted out the small crack of the curtains, visibly tensing as a strange sound made its way to the house. It was like a parade, or rather, a marching band without music. Their feet all working harmoniously together, moving as though one.

Something inside of her made her stomach fold over, a feeling of dread almost like poison shot through her veins. The color in her face began to drain and she felt her hands begin to shake fearfully. The air was heavy and the walls seemed to lean in, like fingers trying to touch her. Everything felt strange, the air turning warmer and the house seemed suddenly far too small. "Nonno?" She piped up louder, ignoring his signal to keep quiet.

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We were quickly approaching the house that seemed to be our target. The house looked like the others around it; outside a pot of flowers was sitting, recently watered by a caring hand. The door looked as flimsy as the rest, it would be easily thrown open or kicked in, whatever my superior decided.

Time felt blurred and dull, just another family, just another person, just another life; stolen and uprooted. I followed, feeling hollow and vacant as the troop came to a halt. I didn't bother to glance over at my brother, I knew he'd just be staring straight ahead as we all were. My superior marched to the door and skipped the knocking, deciding for the much more efficient way of just throwing the door open.

The door crashed against the wall inside, making a terrible CRACK boom throughout the house, making the items inside shake in response. He didn't hesitate to begin his sprint into the room. We all followed orderly, filing into the house and beginning to comb through the building in search of people. It didn't take long for a soldier to come out holding a grown man with brown curly hair, his eyes were clouded with something, was it despair? It had to be, that was what it was always. It would swirl and glaze over the eyes of the people; despair, or terror, sometimes even horror. But, for whatever reason, his honey brown eyes were different; they held a different emotion.

I didn't realize I was staring until those eyes turned up, and for a brief, fleeting, dare I say haunting, moment, our eyes met. A sharp clash of my icy blue orbs and his soft amber eyes. Something in my gaze must have given something away, something in the way my hair was falling out of place, the way my hand switched in my thick gloves; something, because for in that second; his gaze soften. The soldiers around me, previously rushing by me, seemed to slow, their feet falling in at a pace slower than possible to be running. All of that moment was absorbed by those eyes, piercing yet warm; like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm, making the grass glisten with the drops of remaining rain.

Before I could respond, before I could do anything really; he had already looked away. The man's gaze was already trained to the ground as my subordinates began to usher him outside the house. Time began to resume and the sounds of the raid was picked up again like the chorus of a familiar song.

"Come on Ludwig, up here!" I heard from across the room, forcing me to snap out of my daydream. If I remained any longer in my daze I would have drawn too much attention to myself, so I scrambled to where my brother was beckoning me over to the stairs.

All I saw was his silvery hair bounce up the stairs before he disappeared upstairs. I hurried up the stairs, dodging past the others and making my way to the corridor above. The hallway was long and slightly narrow, not exactly what I had been expecting as the house was on the better side of town. Either way, I ducked into the first room to my left that no one had swept through yet.

The room was to be expected a simple bedroom, not a grand area, but not a terrible place to be. The bed was located in the center of the room, with a simple white spread and afghan blanket folded at the foot. A dresser had been pushed in the corner and was decorated with a few pictures of popular Italian singers and handsome public figures. In the corner an easel was set up with a canvas, a sketch of a vast landscape had been drawn out and only half painted. The paint tubes were curled and half empty, the caps crusty with a layer of paint dried on. The brushes were in a cup that was stained a rainbow of shades and looked chipped and old. I swept over there for a moment, my mind going blank and tuning out of the roar of the raid.

The feeling like that of that morning when Anya and Gilbert were in the kitchen tapped into me again. The painting was like none I had seen, each brush of paint was delicate and precise. All the art I had seen seemed to lack these colors, this attention to detail and beauty. Despite being little more than half way done, it took my breath away just looking at it.

It seemed to be the view of the city, though, it seemed almost inaccurate. That painting could not have been what anyone was seeing; especially an artist that lived in a small house like that. Was it even possible for a place like that to exist at that time? The resemblance to the view out of the window was almost painful, like a mirror set on the city. But, it couldn't have been possible; it showed the sun rising with gentle, soft amber colors. Those colors didn't exist in the sunrise though, I should know, I watched the sun rise every morn. The sunrise I watched daily in Germany, and the one I saw in Italy were the same. They consisted simply of a gruesome smear of bloody red and festering orange.

But, the painting was something entirely different. The colors were only the warmest of colors, the orange wasn't the color of infection and disease, and rather, it was the color of a sweet summer orange. The reds weren't bloody and brashly splattered on the canvas; instead, it was the color of a young girl's cheeks igniting in the presence of her crush. All of the colors, each chosen so carefully and affectionately.

Before I even knew what I was doing my fingers had already rushed out before me and were running along the dried lines of the paint. Then falling down to the uncolored areas, the canvas was an unknown texture beneath my gloves and made a soft sound. My mind wandered to thoughts I had never even come across, that maybe somewhere in the world…there might be a place not infected by the darkness that cloaked the sky currently. That was possible right? It had to be, no one could just paint something so wonderful without actually seeing it…right?

Either way, whoever had painted it I knew for sure, I was jealous of. They had the ability to see something so magnificent…yet, no one else could; or rather, I couldn't.

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The air beneath her bed was absolutely stifling. The dry, dusty air she was forced to suck in through her mouth scraped down through her throat and into her lungs. Feliciana was curled in a tight ball under her bed, eyes wide with fear and her body shaking violently.

The fear had two main feeds, the fading one happened to be her very own grandfather; with his wide eyes and trembling hands. His voice was cracked and frantic; his tremors shook her when he clutched her shoulders as he warned her. The words kept repeated and bouncing around her head, almost making her dizzy. The terror in his eyes alone could have given her the same message he had stuttered out.

'Hide.'

With nowhere else to hide besides where she had as a small girl, she immediately ran to her bedroom and ducked under the bed. There she blinked back the fear induced tears that stung her eyes. She hugged herself tightly and tried not to shake like a leaf as she felt she was going to. But instead forced herself to keep an ear against the ground and try to listen for her grandfather to call her back down to the kitchen and tell her that it was a false alarm. That everything was OK, everything was normal.

But in those moments that she managed to calm her shaking and listen intently to the silence that stretched around her. The only sound but of her heart beat hammering in her ears, filling the quiet that seemed to suffocate her. The floor was dusty and grainy under her cheek, nearly making her sneeze. But she held in the sensation.

Images of her grandfather flickered in her head again, a hollow feeling began to make itself known in her stomach. The words he said to her, the feel of his lips pressing against her forehead, his face, it all felt like the last time she'd feel, see, or hear that. 'When you hear no more noise, count to sixty. Once you've counted up that, count it again.' His voice was so shaky; his smile had melted away behind that terror filled frown. Grandfather's large hands seemed to hold too tightly to her shoulders, yet he didn't release. 'Once you're sure that they're gone I want you to run as far as you can. Catch up with your sister, leave the country, something! Just get out of here! Got it?' He asked, eyes wide and frantic, his arms shaking violently.

'S-sì!' Was all Feli could respond with, scared to say much else.

BANG!

Feliciana jumped and clamped her hands over her mouth before she could scream. She curled up tighter, her heart beating a thousand miles an hour, it nearly blocked out all the sounds coming from the floor below her. But the sound like wild boars charging inside the house made the tears that had previously dried and crusted away began to resurface again.

The sounds grew louder as the great thunder of boots on the floor navigated up the stairs and closer and closer to her. She felt panic and fear mix inside of her, making her stomach fold and flip. She craned her head carefully to try to see what was going on. But from under the bed all she could see was half of the room and the door still wide open from when she threw it open in haste to duck beneath the bed. As she waited and the sounds grew louder and nearer to her she soon saw the flicker of shadows spanning over her bedroom.

It was true.

Lovi was right.

They were here.

She was dead.

Thoughts flew through her head, overwhelming her and taking a new hold on her. Like cold fingers wrapping around her neck and slowly tightening she held back the wave of tears that suddenly willed to be freed with loud cries. But she instead bit down on her hand and let a few tears leak out of her eyes, as her shoulders trembled and her legs quivered as well. The whole situation made her feel like a great weight had that had been looming above her had fallen and crashed onto her shoulders. The crushing weight made more shuddered tears roll down her cheeks as she muffled the sound of her choked sobs.

She managed to swallow down her tears and cries and forced herself to stay as quiet as she could. Feli couldn't just leave her grandfather like this. She would escape and do as he wanted if it killed her; which, if she wasn't mistaken, it likely would. The small woman bit her lip and waited impatiently, the sounds of them rummaging through neighboring rooms filling the air around her, making her feel slightly sick. Lovina had been so right to leave; Feli quietly sent a prayer of thanks that her sister wasn't there, and also prayed for her safety.

Feliciana's murmurs under her breath were cut short when the sound of boot heels came clicking into her room. She sucked in air and bit down on her hand, trying to keep her breathing regular and tried to steady her heartbeat, hoping that the intruder wouldn't be able to hear its obnoxious pounding. The stranger didn't seem to suspect anything and moved about the room nonchalantly; well, for a soldier that is.

The mysterious person sauntered over to her wardrobe, silently observing and inspecting. Then they moved over to the side of the room she was unable to see, frustrating her slightly. But she didn't dare move to avoid making any sort of sound, even if it would be the soft rustle of her clothing against the floor. She pressed her sleeve to her mouth to muffle the breathing and squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to make any noise.

The feet has ceased movement beside the easel with her canvas still sitting atop it, proudly displaying her art. She worried what the person would do to it if anything. Perhaps throw it down for cruelty's sake? She fretted over the painting for a few more seconds, then minutes, then finally the footsteps shuffled over towards the bed, making her begin to inwardly panic. She couldn't see them, which made her even more anxious. Did they know she was there?

Visions of the bed skirt being lifted away, leaving her exposed ran through her head and made her tears reappear. No! She shrieked at herself mentally, if I cry now then they'll find me and I'm dead for sure! But her imagination was relentless; the thoughts of the intruder stealing her from under the bed violently filled her brain. She tried to force herself not to hyperventilate, although that was difficult, even without the terror that ran through her system. The dust that mingled in the musky air that loomed around the old springs of her mattress made it hard not to sneeze. Breathing was a whole different story for Feliciana.

The more she focused on that the more she felt her throat begin to seize up with a tickle like the devil's finger creeping up upon her. Feli leaked out a few tears and tried to swallow the cough down, but only succeeded in making the sensation more intense. She reached up and clawed at her throat, tears falling freely yet she made no sound. Feli was panicking more than she had ever before. Now she felt small spasms in her feet from being under the bed for so long and the anxiety of the situation truly hitting her.

Please God, she prayed in her mind, squeezing her eyes shut through the tears. Do with me what you will, but protect Lovi, Antonio, and Nonno. Please let this cough be released after the Gestapo have left. Allow me to escape from these people and find my way to America. But also let me do what you will me to. The dreadful feeling of the cough dragging it's cold claws down her throat filled her, but still she forced the sensation away. She felt the tears fall faster now, trailing down the already wet cheeks and dripping onto the floor. Feli knew she couldn't hold it in any longer. She tried to hold it back longer, but she knew it was coming; and that intruder hadn't left yet.

Feli's tear came down even quicker, sliding down from her eyes and rolling off her face. Her nose was now unusable as the crying had clogged it completely. The puddle of tears under her cheek was warm and growing, reaching out to touch more ground and farther reaches of her face. The Italian's sun kissed face was slightly red from crying and her hair long hair once neatly weaved into a thick braid, was now disheveled and messy. She removed her saliva soaked sleeve from her mouth and moved to a dry place, pressing it tightly to her mouth.

This is it, was her only thought as the cough ripped from her throat, only muffled by the thin sleeve and the bed.

Then, opening her eyes with a terror filled reluctance, she watched as the warm afternoon light poured in through the opposite end of the bed. The shadows of her body fell over the bed skirt in front of her and her tears began to slow as the fear and panic sent a sharp wave of despair in her stomach.

The bed skirt had been pulled away.