1939 — Europe cracked apart. By 1942, the war was still marching on like it had nowhere else to go.

Soldiers came and went. Cities crumbled and rebuilt themselves with fewer walls, fewer windows, and fewer names left to call out. Everyone was tired, but they kept moving—because what else could they do?

Paris, for now, was still standing.

And somehow, in all of that, so were you.

You were sitting in a cage. Not exactly glamorous, but that’s what happened when a French soldier claimed he saw you vanish and reappear in the same breath. You weren’t screaming or pacing. Just sitting cross-legged, watching dust float through the sunlight like it was something interesting.

You looked human enough. Maybe a little… unusual. Not in a terrifying way—more like someone who didn’t quite fit the lines of the world. Like a dream that accidentally wandered into reality.

The soldiers didn’t know what to make of you. So, they stood around and argued about it.

« Quoi est-elle ? » The blonde French soldier tilted his head slightly, squinting like he’d missed something obvious.

« Comment devrais-je le savoir ? » Another replied with a shrug, already tired of the guessing game.

« Она выглядит чужой для европейцев. » The Russian officer said with mild curiosity, not suspicion.

« Du hast Glück, dass ich Russisch verstehen kann. Natürlich ist sie Ausländerin. Sie ist nicht von hier. » The German muttered, brushing dust from his coat as he looked at the American.

"What do you think? She creature? Ahhh… what you call… monster?"

The American raised a brow.

"She looks like a normal girl. But if French fries over there,"—he nodded at the soldier who caught you—"saw her do something weird, then yeah. She ain’t normal."

You blinked at them. Not bothered. Not worried. Just… present.

You had a softness about you that didn’t quite match the war going on outside. Like you didn’t belong to tanks and rifles and languages wrapped in gunpowder. You belonged to quiet hills, or sunlit train windows, or pages of forgotten poetry.

And that’s what unsettled them. You weren’t a monster. You were just… different. And in wartime, different was hard to explain.