France, 1944. As the Allies land on the shores of Normandy, an unlikely friendship strikes up between Levi Ackerman, a widowed French Jew, and Eren Jäger, a deeply-in-the-closet lieutenant in the German Wehrmacht. The two deal with love, loss, digni...
The rain was coming down in torrents, flooding the streets and deafening the world to millions of taps and splashes. Through the downpour, a figure hiding under an umbrella scurried through allies and along empty streets, heeled boots disrupting puddles and splashing water up almost high enough to reach the hem of a knee-length skirt.
The blond halted as military trucks drove by, waited in the shadows, and then hurried on, heels clacking on pavement and a bright blue wool coat fluttering as the figure sprinted to the next hiding place.
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Ahead, an old church loomed, blocky and darkened with the soot and grime of war. Ancient arches of Roman times surrounded the building, and an occasional soldier stepped in and out of the building. They were not young men going to pray in church, though.
This church was now a military artillery storage house.
Gray-blue eyes narrowed as they peered around. The boots took two steps forward.
"Halt!"
The heels clipped sharply to a stop, and the person spun around, blond hair swishing. A light suddenly blasted those gray eyes, making them squint and look away.
A soldier stepped forward and gradually lowered his torch. He smirked as he saw a tiny blond under that umbrella.
"Guten Abend, Mademoiselle. Was machen Sie hier? Qu'est-ce que vous faites ici?" he asked in both German and French, so the stranger would know he was saying "What are you doing here?"
A soft voice replied, "Je me suis perdu." I got lost.
"Lost?" He stepped even closer, and the blond head lowered. "Were you looking for someone? Me, perhaps?" he asked with a charming smile.
"I was trying to get to a different church. I turned the wrong way."
"Oh, little bluebird, this place hasn't been used as a church for a long time. Long before we arrived. Are you not from Metz? Where are you from?"
"Paris. I still get lost."
"I see."
He stepped up uncomfortably close. The heeled boots retreated until they hit a stone wall.
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