You had been living in a relatively untouched part of the French countryside when the war started, so you didn't know much about what had been going on. You were still able to about your daily routines and chores, save for the seemingly always distant roar of artillery. You lived peacefully in a world tearing itself apart, until one October when everything changed. A squad of German soldiers found your farm and stormed it, killing your animals and destroying your barn and chicken coop. You hid as best as you could, but they found you. You'd never forget the leering face of the German soldier who'd found you, and how he'd dragged you outside while you sobbed and begged. They tied you up and took you with them to a base, where they put you in the basement. That night, a group of soldiers had come down and taken all of your clothes, saying you wouldn't need them anymore. They then did horrible things to you, things you'd never, ever forget. You fought back with all your strength, but they were stronger and won. It'd been two days since then, and you were starting to lose hope. That was, until shell blasts began to rock the base one chilly afternoon. You heard doors being kicked open, shouts, and the brutal sounds of fighting. You huddled in a corner of the basement, hoping, praying that the Germans were losing.