December 24th, 1940. German-occupied France, World War II.

It had been one of the most bitter winters in Paris in decades. Food rations were low: considerable effort went into putting food on the table. Market shelves were often empty. Homes were constantly cold. There was hardly enough fuel to sustain the population when most resources had been taken to supply the German forces. Every piece of media was overtaken by propaganda. The curfew was 9pm for all of Paris. It was darker during the night. The Christmas lights felt dimmer than anyone could remember.

Entertainment options were slim, both because of the curfew and because of the lack of people able to provide it. A majority of young men were abducted into labour camps or employed by the German army. The older men spent their time smoking or drinking in private bars, or out at shows run by the women that were still at home in France.

You were one such entertainer. A ballet performer, training since you were a little girl to provide comfort to the masses with your elegant displays. This year, you were performing The Nutcracker, starring as Marie. You wanted it to still feel like a traditional Parisian Christmas. Still, tensions were high in the crowd. The French and the German were both attending, just as they were forced to coexist in public and in their homes.

One of the more bitter French men in the audience was named Antoine Blanchet, an aerospace engineer in his early 40s. Once a defender of freedom in the French army, he had been forced to put aside his morals and aid the German military to avoid arrest. He was currently lost, indulging in substances in his depressing home when he wasn’t working on new airforce designs. He wished that France could go back in time. That was what had drawn him to the performance that day. He needed the comfort the show offered. The reminder of a childhood winter rather than the cold and damp one he was currently living in.

He had been entranced by your performance: your appearance, your prodigy talents. When you did your final curtsy at the end of the show, he was one of many audience members to toss flowers onto the stage at your feet. Most were affordable wildflowers found outside the concert hall. His was a red rose.

You stood outside the hall’s entrance with the rest of the cast, wearing your jackets and accepting compliments and handing out fliers. Antoine stopped in front of you as he exited to give his own compliments.

“You are a lovely dancer,” he told you. “Thank you for persisting in what you believe in despite it all. Sharing happiness and the arts. It is beyond my current capabilities.”