Warning: Lots of trigger warnings for WWII-ish things, please take care while reading
Prologue: The Beauty in the Mundane
“Matilda, please pass the salt.” Her father asks softly.
Most things he asks of Matilda are soft, kindhearted, honest, everything a father should be.
She loves to make her father happy. Help him with his work as soon as she gets home from school. See the curve of his smile as he works with his hands. She’s far too young to be much help, but he encourages her to watch and pass him a piece of thread here, and a scrap of leather there.
She loves her mother too. Rising early with her each morning to tend to the chickens. “Eggs are worth more than gold.” Her mother reminds her. The features of her face angular and wrinkled before her time, weathered by the seasons and a life of hard work.
Matilda passes the salt to her father, smiling up at him. “How was your day, papa?” She asks.
“Oh pleasant, my dear.” He smiles in reply. “But nothing beats being around the table for dinner with my two favourite ladies.”
Matilda’s mother chuckles. Despite her always-tired eyes, she spares a laugh for her husband. “Tilly, I got you a little something today.”
It’s barely more than a square of fabric, but the shaul becomes the most prized possession Matilda could ever dream of. It’s soft and well-made, certainly more for looks than practicality. It’s a frivolity she’s only ever dreamed of.
“Our last haul of eggs was a good one, and I was able to barter for something a little extra.” Matilda’s mother smiles and pats her daughter’s arm lovingly.
That night, little Matilda is lost in a dream world of pretty princes asking her for a dance and whisking her off to a palace in the clouds. She wakes the next morning to birds chirping in the fields, the scent of honey and lavender fades as the sleep leaves her eyes. The sun paints the dreary world warm and golden. Stretching, she smiles to greet the new day.
Act I: To move forward, we must first look back
She was barely a teenager when she saw them for the first time. Their crisp uniforms, the bold badge around their left arms, the brave eagle flying on flags overhead. All symbols of a better future. A stronger country. One that would rise from the ashes of the unfair outcomes of history, and take what was rightfully theirs.
She was in the street with her mother as the soldiers marched by. A bony hand gripping a little too tightly around her shoulder. A warning perhaps. But Matilda was too entranced. Too caught up in the songs and the cheering and the music. The excitement was palpable In the air. One of the young boys who marched just behind a group of strong male soldiers caught her eye.
He smiled. And she smiled back. His beautiful face and dimpled cheeks were framed by short-cropped blond hair, almost white, and round ears. His perfect crystals of blue eyes pierced her as they gazed into her own dark ones, for just a moment. It was the first time she felt her heart skip a beat.
A few years later she wishes… no, there’s no room left in the world for hopes or wishes… In the deep of the night, when darkness overtakes the world, and silence deafens to the point of hurt, Matilda lets herself dream. Of a world where she can eat a full meal with her parents again. Where she will sneak to her father’s workshop after school to help him finish his day faster, so that he can dance with her mother, tired from a day in the fields, around the living room. A world where her parents smile at each other and hug her warmly. Where she can run through a field of wild peonies or poppies with Sybil and Bella, without fear of being caught and taken away.
Matilda sobs at the thought of little Bella. Much younger than Matilda, but her first friend. Maybe her only friend. She’ll never know what happened to her or where she went. Just the knowledge of one day, after getting home from school and her mother telling her they needed to go.
“Can I say goodbye to Bella?” Little Matilda had asked.
Her mother, face lined with worry her daughter could not yet understand. “I’m sorry, but you cannot. We have to go. Bella is gone.”
It feels like a lifetime ago, playing in the forest on the edge of town with her friends. Matilda shivers under the threadbare rag she uses as a blanket, willing herself to dream of baked goods and warm soups. Eventually, sleep takes her.
Shouting breaks Matilda out of her stupor.
“Sir, they’re up there!” A familiar voice exclaims. It’s youthful and excited and reminds Matilda of a day so long ago… Of a parade and celebration, and beautiful blue eyes. Of a boy she used to go to school with and may have had a little crush on. But that was a lifetime ago.
More shouting and banging and then there is light. More light than Matilda has seen in months. It penetrates through the dusty haze of the attic that’s been her and her parents’ home for the past… months? Years? However long, she’s lost count.
The soldiers make short work of ferreting her family outside. The man Matilda has thought of as an uncle refuses to meet their gazes as they are roughly pushed out the door and towards a vehicle. A young man grabs her by the arm and urges her to walk faster. It’s difficult because she hasn’t walked upright In… weeks? Longer than that? She turns to him to say as much. She knew this man when he was a boy. Andy, was his name. But his once-angelic blue eyes are now ice-cold, devoid of any recognition. He looks at her like most people look at chickens. Like suffering her stench is only worth the hefty price she’ll sell for at the market. A shiver runs up Matilda’s spine.
She doesn’t know much, but she knows this is what they were hiding from. When her mother ushered her and her father into the back of a van and went to stay with a distant family member, in another country. Later, when she found they would be sleeping in the attic, and only Let downstairs once in a while. When once in a while became never. It wasn’t safe. She wasn’t safe. She does not know if this “Uncle” was the one who alerted the police they were there. Or if it was the old lady next door, or just another stroke of bad luck. Matilda hopes it wasn’t because of her. That one time needed to breathe fresh air or scream, or the little doll she left outside one day.
They’re tossed into the back of a vehicle, in the dark once more. Matilda’s father resting a hand on hers. It’s become mostly soft in the time he hasn’t used them for work. The skin between his index finger and his thumb carries thick calluses, likely from all the secret letters he’s been writing. It’s odd but not wholly unfamiliar.
The bumping along the road eventually stops. More shouts and demands. The door opens and Matilda’s father is pulled out, gruffly and impersonally. It’s the last time she ever sees him.
The thought life in the camp might be bearable. After months of being cooped up in an enclosed space, eating like mice and never seeing the light of day. But this hope is quickly dispelled as she hears stories from the others. Those who have been here longer. Though the longest has only been here for a few months. She wonders if Bella might be here.
Soon, the realization dawns on her that this camp is her death sentence. If she’s good and helpful, maybe she will prolong the inevitable for a few weeks, months. Living a ghost of an existence, a slave to the work they force them all to do. Cramped and sickly conditions, making and remaking things until their fingers start to fall off.
But when her mother’s name is called one night, she thinks this is her breaking point. Ever proud, ever strong, the years of hiding have not been kind to her mother. Her eyes sunken; her once dark hair a frail grey; her arms no longer strong but scrawny and brittle. She grasps Matilda’s hand a final time. “Women in our family don’t break.”
After that, her memories all blend together. She weeps all the tears so that her insides are dry. There is nothing any longer to keep her grounded, or sane. No future to live for or die for. When Matilda’s name is called, it is almost a mercy. When the oxygen is purged from her body, surrounded by dozens of others like her, her mind can finally rest.
Act II: Second Chances
A warm hand covers hers. “Laudna?”
Jerking out of her stupor, Laudna blinks rapidly. The world comes into focus and her world comes into focus. Imogen, her kind eyes and her full cheeks, a slight wrinkle at her forehead as she mutters her concerns.
“Sorry, dear, what were you asking?” Laudna tries to remember, but Imogen’s words slip like sand through her fingers.
Imogen holds Laudna’s hand in her own. Sitting at a booth, really their booth, at her favourite bar in the city. The dim lighting and the dark wood accented by crushed velvet the colour of red wine. It’s not the only place they feel safe holding hands like this, but it’s one of a few public spots.
“You back to earth?” Imogen asks, the worry slowly dissipating from her face as Laudna makes eye contact and smiles.
“Yes, sorry. I was just lost in thought for a little bit there.” Laudna admits, quietly, “Remembering Matilda.”
Imogen nods sadly, but understanding is written all over her face. Laudna looks over to the cause of her flashback, remembering the life she barely thinks of as her own. Two booths over, a young person sits there. Their scarred left hand holding a glass of something much stronger than beer or wine. Laudna can smell the alcohol even from here. As they move, she sees the flap of fabric covering where their right arm should be connected to a shoulder.
Imogen’s strong hands hold Laudna’s as she begins to fidget. She breathes intentionally and Laudna finds herself copying her partner’s breathing pattern, almost on autopilot. “We can leave, if you want.”
Laudna shrugs.
“Or, I can ask them to leave?” Imogen ventures, quietly, for Laudna’s ears only.
Laudna knows Imogen would do anything for her, and that alone gives her the courage, the strength enough to respond. “No. No, I just, needed a moment. It’s been so long, and it was another life, literally… but sometimes, things make me remember.”
This stranger probably wasn’t even aware of it, but their ramblings about the more recent war sent Laudna spiraling down memory lane to an older one… a more personal one, for her anyway.
“Was it vivid this time?” Imogen asks. They’ve talked about these flashbacks many times before.
“Oh, very.” Laudna responds flatly.
“I’m so sorry.” Imogen brings one of Laudna’s hands up to her mouth to plant a soft kiss on the grey, delicate fingers.
“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault, you weren’t even born yet. And your relatives were an ocean away!” Laudna turns her attention back to her partner. “Just waiting to swoop in and save the remainder of my kin.” This earns a small, sad smile from Imogen. “It is sort of nice, you know.” Launda continues.
“What is?” Imogen asks.
“I get to see my parents again, in these flashbacks,” Laudna says wistfully. “Sometimes…”
A tear falls down Imogen’s cheek, and she quickly wipes it away. The two sit side by side in a charged silence for a few minutes.
“I want to talk to them.” Laudna hisses suddenly, her eyes flitting over to the individual at the table over.
Imogen cocks her head and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
Nodding vigorously, Laudna states. “They look like they have an interesting story.”
Imogen smiles wryly. “I’m not sure how much they’re going to want to talk, honey.”
Laudna nods, acknowledging this. Because, for starters, people typically don’t want to talk to a dead girl. And secondly, war veterans, as this young person is clearly, rarely come to bars to chat with strangers. Or so Laudna assumes. But she feels drawn to them, for an inexplicable reason. Their brief outburst earlier, clearly a sign of trauma from battles not too long ago, triggered a trauma response of her own.
She instantly feels a kinship and would die a second time just to learn what it means.
Laudna begins to untangle herself from her partner. “Let’s go. If they don’t want to talk, well that’s okay. We can just buy them a drink and leave.”
Ashton, it turns out, doesn’t like talking. But they, much to their own surprise, love talking to Laudna. The three of them are soon joined by Ashton’s friend and former army officer Lieutenant Grass. The latter wheeling in excitedly up to the table after seeing Ashton with friends.
Ashton and Lt. Grass fought in the last war together, and have been helping each other recover and reintegrate back into society. “And you said, you’re dead?” Grass asks bluntly, after another round of drinks.
“Well, yes, or perhaps I’m un-dead.” Laudna explains. “I certainly was killed, more than 30 years ago. And then I woke up, in a sea of dead bodies, in a pit, sprinkled with dirt and some talcum powder. And probably shit and piss.” She adds, grinning maniacally.
Ashton and Lieutenant Grass frown. Imogen keeps her mouth a hardened line and a hand on Laudna’s knee under the table. She’s heard this story many times before, but Laudna can’t imagine it gets any easier. “I’m sorry,” Laudna’s eyes flit to Imogen’s.
“You don’t need to apologize.” Imogen states. “Least of all to me. I just, I know this was years ago but it just makes me so mad! Every time I’m reminded of what they did to you. What they did to millions of people! Millions of kind and wonderful, hardworking people. And for what?”
“Money and power.” Ashton flexes their hand before finishing off their stiff drink.
Laudna can hear Imogen gritting her teeth. She covers her hand and squeezes slightly.
“It was a long, long time ago. And the people who did it were mostly, eventually caught.” Laudna tries to diffuse the emotions at the table.
“And we’re all here to make sure nothing like it ever happens again.” Grass states with finality.
Ashton grimaces, crosses their arm over their chest and looks over at their friend. “For better or worse.”
Imogen sighs, nodding her agreement. “For better or for worse.”
This is a fan fiction piece, characters are not my own. Everything is completely fictional. It takes place in a non-magic Exandria and draws inspiration from Critical Role characters, What Doesn’t Break, real-life events, and fictional stories based on real-life events.
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