Chapter Text
“That was wonderful, darling! You were glowing, just like always,” your mother said, her voice brimming with pride as she reached for your hand the moment you stepped down from the stage. You smiled, feeling it too. That quiet warmth blooming in your chest, the soft, golden afterglow that came only from doing what you loved.
The finest people in your small town had filled the hall tonight. Officially, they had come to hear the entire group. But you knew without arrogance that their eyes had lingered on you the longest.
Your performance had been effortless. You and your friends had sung as one. Five voices braided together in harmony, full of grace and clarity. You weren’t professionals, nor did you aim to be. You were simply a close circle of girls who had been singing together for years. It had started back in school as a cheerful pastime, a way to bring light to dark times. But over the years, it had grown into something more. Something careful, practiced, and beautiful in its simplicity.
There was nothing flashy about your group. No shimmering costumes or dramatic solos. Just thoughtful arrangements, gentle melodies, and a quiet kind of elegance. You sang at town events, church festivals, charity galas—anywhere that welcomed modest, heartfelt music.
But tonight, in the soft glow of chandeliers and warm applause, you felt like something more. No, not a starlet or a Berlin showgirl, but something real. Something whole. You belonged to the music, and it belonged to you.
These concerts had become your sanctuary. A place where you could remember who you were, away from the careful scripts of daily life. They reminded you that you were more than a name on an engagement notice. Not just the daughter of wealthy parents. Not just a future wife. But a voice worth listening to.
You had always been exceptional. The kind of girl teachers spoke of proudly. The one mothers pointed to when they said that’s how a young lady should carry herself. A name wrapped in admiration.
“Step aside! I need to hold my girl!” Karl’s voice called cheerfully as he weaved through the crowd toward you. You laughed as he pulled you into a warm embrace, and your father chuckled nearby, eyes twinkling with pride. He liked Karl von Hartmann. He had always respected his manners, his family, his plans, the way he looked at you like a prize already won.
“Please, there’s enough of me for everyone,” you said lightly, brushing invisible creases from your skirt. The hall buzzed with conversation, the scent of fresh pastries hanging in the air.
Your little singing group had never aimed for grandeur. What began in classrooms and church halls had gradually found its way into grander spaces. And somehow, through the changes, the music had remained. The friendship, the joy, the sound of your voices together.
And here you were, still chasing that quiet light. Still clinging to those few moments on stage where you felt entirely like yourself.
Because when you sang, you weren’t someone’s daughter or someone’s fiancée. You were just you.
It was your escape. A brief rebellion dressed in harmony and modesty. Because soon, you’d be expected to trade melodies for housekeeping, and lace-trimmed dresses for an apron. Karl’s wife. A mother. A hostess. All perfectly arranged.
You didn’t hate that future.
But you weren’t ready to disappear into it.
That was why you clung to the music, to the stage, to the moment before the applause faded. Your parents and Karl were proud, of course, but in their eyes, this was only a charming pastime. A phase. Something you would let go of once you took your rightful place in the home.
But tonight, as the final notes still echoed faintly in the corners of the hall, it was all still yours.
People might wonder why anyone would long to escape a grand estate like yours—an elegant mansion with marble floors, velvet drapes, and every comfort imaginable. But you did. Because in your parents’ picture-perfect home, even beauty could feel suffocating. The air was always a little too still, the perfection a little too rehearsed. Sometimes, you felt as though you were slowly being pressed flat beneath the weight of it all.
“Darling, I must speak with my business partners now,” your father said warmly, straightening his tie as he turned to go. “I’m sure Karl can keep you entertained on the dance floor. You’ll want to dance, no doubt.” He smiled and gave your cheek a gentle pat as if you were still a child in patent leather shoes, not a grown woman in silk.
You forced a polite smile, but something in you flinched. They never seemed to notice how old you had become, how much space you needed to think, to breathe. Still, you couldn’t deny how fortunate you were. You didn’t have to work. You had a room larger than most families’ entire apartments, you rose whenever you pleased, and your days were filled with music, parties, and admiration.
And yet.
One day, perhaps sooner than you dared to admit, Karl would come to you with that quiet, proud smile and say he’d bought a house for the two of you. Something respectable and grand. And then, without pause, would come the next step. Children, domesticity, a life planned out with mechanical precision. The image of it made your stomach turn. You shoved it from your thoughts, unwilling to let it spoil the music or the candlelight.
“Shall we dance, meine Liebe?” Karl said, offering his hand with that ever-charming grin. “Everyone needs to witness the dazzling steps of my bride-to-be.”
You hesitated only a moment. You were tired and your cheeks ached from smiling, but dancing had always been one of the few joys untouched by obligation. So you let him lead you onto the polished floor, the orchestra swelling just in time with your first step.
“I want to savour this moment with you,” Karl whispered, his lips close to your ear, “before you leave for Berlin.”
It sounded romantic. It was romantic. At least, the idea of a weekend in the capital was. Berlin’s bright cafés, grand theatres, and humming streets. A chance to feel anonymous in a crowd. A chance to breathe.
But even that had its price. The thought of boarding the night bus later with your friends, your suitcase already packed and waiting in the lobby, made your limbs feel heavier.
Still, as the music wrapped around you and Karl spun you through the candlelit crowd, you smiled. You would dance. You would escape, if only for a little while.
After the trip to Berlin, inevitably, you would return to your quiet hometown, where everything waited exactly as you had left it. Immaculate and predictable. Karl would greet you with open arms and that same unwavering certainty in his voice, launching into the newest version of his dream: the perfect house for the two of you, the rose garden, the wedding with just the right amount of guests and invitations.
“My star, my little bird…” he murmured into your ear, as if the words still held magic.
He was devoted. Generous. A dear friend.
But as a fiancé? About as thrilling as a lecture on the evolution of paperclips.
There was no fire between you. No friction, no spark. You had grown up beside each other like ivy on the same wall, twisting together more out of proximity than desire. Your fathers had been friends since their youth, and in a small town like yours, that kind of legacy weighed more than love ever could.
And so, you had accepted it. With grace, even. You told yourself this was enough. That he was a good man. Stable, loyal and utterly harmless. What more could a woman ask for?
Karl’s hand rested gently on the small of your back as he led you onto the dance floor again. The orchestra shifted to a waltz, the kind that made the room feel like it was swaying gently beneath your feet. Around you, satin skirts and polished shoes glided across the parquet floor beneath a ceiling of gold leaf and crystal light.
“I wish this night wouldn’t end,” Karl said, his voice low as he looked down at you, his expression soft and proud. “You were breathtaking tonight.”
You smiled, tilting your head in acknowledgment. “The others sang beautifully too.”
“They did,” he admitted. “But no one can match the way you sing. You belong on a stage.”
You almost said I wish that were true, but instead you let him twirl you. The chandeliers caught in your dress as you spun, your skirt fluttering like a bell in bloom. The music was easy to fall into. It always had been.
“I just hope Berlin doesn’t wear you out too much,” Karl added as he drew you close again. “That city… it’s not exactly peaceful.”
You felt him tense slightly beneath the elegance of his tailored suit. He tried not to let it show, but you’d known him long enough to feel the shift.
“It’s just a few days,” you said lightly. “We’ll be back before anyone has time to miss us.”
“A whole group of young women running off to Berlin,” he said with a strained chuckle. “It sounds like something out of a picture show.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust me?”
“Of course I do,” he said quickly. “It’s not you I worry about. It’s everything else. That city has changed. It’s louder, faster, more… unpredictable.”
You didn’t say it out loud, but that was exactly what drew you to it.
The thought of tonight’s journey sent a ripple of anticipation down your spine. Berlin meant noise and music and motion. It meant air that didn’t feel quite so heavy. It meant a few precious days where no one called you my star or my little bird, or asked you when the wedding invitations would be sent.
Karl held you tighter as the music slowed. “I just want you safe. And I want us to keep moving forward.”
You smiled at him, a careful, practiced smile, and rested your hand against his chest.
“We will,” you said gently.
But inside, you were already on the road. Already aboard the bus with your friends, already staring out the window as the city lights of Berlin crept closer. Already imagining who you might be, even for just a weekend, away from chandeliers and good intentions.
And still, you danced. Because it was expected. Because he was kind. Because it was easier than saying you needed a breath of air before the cage closed for good.
You were dressed modestly. A soft, cream-colored gown with long sleeves and a high neckline, demure but elegant, its fabric flowing lightly as you danced. The hem fluttered around your ankles with each graceful step, catching the rhythm like a whisper. Your singing group was not some frivolous troupe of coquettes meant to dazzle men. It was a refined, disciplined ensemble that performed at the most prestigious events.
And yet, sometimes, you felt Karl regarded your beloved hobby with a faint hint of condescension. As though, in his mind, the stage belonged to women who twirled their skirts for attention, not for art. There were moments—too many, lately—when his expression tightened at the sight of you under the lights. You knew he didn’t like the way other men looked at you when you played, when you sang. The way their eyes lingered.
He let you perform, for now. That much was clear. But once wedding bells chimed, once rings were exchanged and names were shared, you were certain he expected a new role for you. One behind closed doors. One far from the spotlight.
Your eyes drifted up to his face. He was handsome. Striking, even. With his carefully parted hair and sculpted mustache, he looked every inch the gentleman. Kind, polite, impeccably dressed. Everything a woman in your town was raised to hope for.
So why did your heart resist?
Every voice around you told you you should feel lucky. Grateful. That he was yours. That a future with Karl was a prize.
And yet, as you danced beneath the chandelier’s shimmer, your hem catching the air, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were dancing your way toward a life you never truly chose.
The music slowed, drawing the waltz to its final breath. Karl gave you a gentle twirl and then caught your hand as you came back to him, holding you close for a moment longer than necessary. His breath brushed your temple.
“We should rejoin the others,” you said quietly, pulling back with a soft smile. “I think I still owe a few goodbyes.”
He nodded, though reluctantly, as if hoping the music might start again and stretch this moment just a bit further. But the orchestra was setting down their instruments, and the spell was breaking.
You stepped off the floor arm in arm, your skirts whispering around your ankles, the silk of your gown cool against your legs. The room buzzed with polite laughter and clinking glasses, and the scent of coffee and roses hung in the air. Your parents stood near the buffet table, speaking with one of your mother’s friends, but your mother’s face lit up the moment she saw you approach.
“There she is, our nightingale,” she said, drawing you into an embrace that smelled of perfume and powdered sugar. “You were wonderful, darling. Truly.”
“Thank you, Mama,” you murmured, feeling a pang as you held her close. Despite everything, you would miss them.
Your father gave Karl a hearty clap on the back. “You’re a lucky man, son. That girl could charm the moon down from the sky.”
Karl laughed modestly, though you felt his hand tighten slightly around yours.
Your friends gathered nearby, their faces flushed with excitement and the last swirls of adrenaline. They were chatting about the seats on the bus and someone’s aunt in Berlin who might let them visit. You caught their eye and raised your hand in a small wave.
“We should be going,” you said, gently extracting yourself from the conversation with your parents. “The bus to Berlin leaves in twenty minutes.”
Karl turned to face you fully, and his expression softened again into that careful, practiced affection.
He leaned in and kissed your cheek, lingering just long enough to draw a few fond looks from the onlookers. You smiled, but your gaze had already drifted past him, toward the door.
Your friends were already gathering their coats, their laughter trailing toward the exit.
It was time.
You went to get your coat and Karl helped you into it gently, smoothing the collar as if reluctant to let go. Then the two of you stepped outside, the evening air crisp against your cheeks.
Your suitcase had been waiting in the lobby, neatly arranged by the door. Without a word, Karl picked it up and carried it with ease, as if it weighed nothing at all.
Outside, the town hall loomed behind you, its windows glowing softly in the winter dark. Karl lit a cigarette, the tip flaring to life in the cold. You paused there together for a moment, the snow falling quietly around you, the silence between you was comfortable.
“Y/N! The bus is leaving, come on, we have to go!” Anna’s voice cut through the cold night air, bright and urgent. She stood near the corner of the town hall, wrapped in a thick navy coat and striped scarf, one gloved hand waving above her head. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, dark curls peeking from beneath her wool cap.
Anna had been your closest friend since school. Sharp-tongued, fiercely loyal, and the unofficial leader of your quintet. She was the kind of girl who didn’t care what people whispered about women on stage, and she encouraged you all to sing louder, stand taller, laugh more. She had practically organized this entire Berlin trip herself, armed with maps, timetables, and the determination of someone born to escape small-town walls—even just for a weekend.
You smiled as you spotted her, but your breath hitched in your throat, crystallizing in the freezing air. Snow fell lightly from the dark sky, dusting the streets in a quiet white shimmer. The cold bit at your ears and nose, even under your hat and scarf. You could already feel your fingertips going numb through your gloves.
“I have to go now, Karl,” you said quickly, turning to him with your suitcase in hand. “I’ll be back on Monday. It’s just the weekend .”
Karl frowned slightly, though he covered it with a smile. “Call me from the hotel, if you get a chance. I’ll miss you.”
You nodded, returning his kiss on the cheek with a polite smile. You could already feel the pull of the road ahead. As you bent to hoist your suitcase, Karl stepped forward. “Let me help.”
But you shook your head. “It’s fine, I’ve got it.” You took a step back, already turning away. “Bye, Karl!”
He stayed behind as you hurried across the empty square, waving once more before the cold swallowed you both.
Your heels clicked sharply against the icy pavement. The wind howled between the buildings, sharp as needles. You clutched your coat tightly around you, the collar drawn up high, but the cold still found its way beneath your layers. The streets were nearly deserted, only the muffled sounds of laughter ahead marked where your friends had gone.
You turned the corner, expecting to see the bus right away, but the side of the building stretched on longer than you remembered. Shadows pooled at the base of the walls, thick and still. The town hall loomed above you, its tall windows like watchful eyes.
Something felt wrong.
You paused for half a second, listening.
The snow crunched under your feet. And under someone else’s.
You swallowed hard. Your pulse began to race. You picked up your pace, your suitcase thudding behind you as your heels scrambled for traction on the slick cobblestones.
The bus headlights were visible now in the distance, glowing faintly through the haze of falling snow. Warmth and safety just around the bend.
But the footsteps behind you were growing faster. Closer.
You didn’t want to look back. But you couldn’t help it.
You spun around, your breath catching in your throat.
There was no time to scream. The world tilted.
And then everything went black.