Shosanna was forced awake in the early morning hours before sunrise as sleep did not come easy to her that previous night. Her body ached with an intense dread that turned her insides into knots; she would not be able to have any rest or comfort for the remainder of the day. Curling up into a corner of her bed, Shosanna spent the next few hours smoking cigarettes and contemplating all that lay ahead of her. There was no going back.

Shosanna feared her knees would buckle descending the staircase into the lobby as she was greeted by the sight of Joseph Goebbels and Francesca Mondino, closely followed by his personal entourage of German plebeians; all armed to the teeth with a variety of obnoxiously gaudy decorations specifically acquired for that night's premiere. Shosanna could not help picturing Madame Mimieux cynically observing such a spectacle and rolling her eyes to the point of exhaustion; such a thought brought a much needed twinge of amusement to the young woman. Goebbels immediately went to work the moment he came through the front doors, barking out orders and demands to the men which Mondino then translated for the theater proprietor's benefit.

Such trivial nonsense, Shosanna mused, After all, in another twelve hours nothing will remain but the foundations and ashes.

Later that afternoon came an absolutely beaming Col. Hans Landa. Here was a man who would engage you in pleasant conversation over dessert and then grind his cigarette out in the whipped cream topping with the same verve, Shosanna imagined, as grinding his slick boot heel into a victim. She could not understand how this lusus naturae could be so offensively jovial. As Goebbels occupied himself with overseeing the finishing touches to his extravagant interior and exterior designs, Landa delighted himself with surveying every inch of the theater. Throughout this entire ordeal Shosanna kept her distance, allowing them to do what they felt was necessary to see their preparations through; she kept her posture as rigid as possible and balled her trembling hands into fists, shoved into her trouser pockets.

Landa, however, eventually proved difficult as he desired to be shown not only the projection booth, but the entire collection of 35 mm film prints as well. While he was not rude or demanding with his request, it was the prospect of having to look Landa in the face and engage him in a conversation that required saying more than "Oui" and "Non" that sickened Shosanna. Begrudgingly, she complied, as it was merely the promise of what was to come that evening that motivated her to cooperate with that day's events.

Shosanna stood in the doorway as Landa, back to her, gleefully perused the film collection. He talked on at length about films, only pausing to acknowledge the young woman's presence by asking her if she happened to have copies of Fritz Lang's Die Nibelungen: Siegfrieds Tod and Die Nibelungen: Kriemhilds Rache. Before Shosanna could even answer, Landa found what he was searching for and continued on with the practically one-sided discussion by listing the differences between the films and the Wagner opera they originated from. She nodded along blankly, now intently staring at the back of his head.

Shosanna's eyes briefly darted about the room, searching for a blunt object. Perhaps one of the film reels? Or one of the film reel shipping cases? She then allowed herself the privilege of fantasizing about how it would feel, to grasp a reel, a case, anything and to smash it into the back of Landa's head — the base of his skull, to be precise; to feel the impact and to hear the satisfying crunch of bone.

It would never work out, however, as his body would be jarred forward and he'd collapse into the shelved reels, which would cause far too much of a commotion and bring the attention of everyone else in the lobby. If Shosanna could get away with doing so at that moment, she would; she would disarm Landa and continue to rain blows down upon him, even if she had to use her bare hands as weapons. The thought of that man dying beneath her fists was nearly far too much to resist. But Shosanna was shaken out of her reverie when Landa turned to fully face her and spoke,

"Even considering the differences, both are still beautiful triumphs of filmmaking, which stand well enough on their own, don't you agree?"

Startled, she absent-mindedly nodded her head.

He continued,

"Mademoiselle Mimieux, I must apologize, as I have not allowed you a word in edge-wise. As disrespectful as I have been, will you forgive me? I just have not been able to attend a theater — film or stage — at all these past few years, given the circumstances."

He then smiled knowingly.

Shosanna stammered for a moment, but then gaining control of her composure, she managed a reserved,

"Oui."

"Splendid!" Landa exclaimed, clapping his hands together for extra emphasis.

"Now, if you do not mind, Mademoiselle Mimieux, if I may take a moment to set up temporary refuge in your office, I'll then be on my way."

The Colonel, as always, was true to his word. He arrived separately from Goebbels and Mondino, but they all left together after talking him into joining them briefly at a high-end restaurant to review the evening's plans over the finest wine that they could procure.

And there she stood, a lonely figure in the lobby. The decadence surrounding Shosanna made her feel ill; but as much as she wanted to collapse and break down, to shriek and sob to placate the ache she felt to her core, she could not. Marcel had left earlier that morning to busy himself with errands around the city, so as to stay out of sight and out of mind of their German guests. He would be back within a few more hours with the doctored reel, but until then, she was on her own. Entirely overwhelmed with a mix of emotions, Shosanna granted herself a brief reprieve and left the theater.

The sun was slowly setting, the sky alight with orange and pink and casting all below it with an ethereal, golden glow. Shosanna stood in front of Le Gamaar, her only sanctuary, which would soon enough be reduced to ruins. The marquee made a blaring announcement of the premiere of Joseph Goebbels' new masterpiece, Stolz Der Nation starring his Golden Boy and Germany's war hero, Fredrick Zoller. And there, above the marquee was the young man's stoically handsome face, larger than life. Despite her frayed nerves and knotted insides Shosanna could not help but admire the beauty of it all.

She had spent her entire day running on nothing but pure adrenaline and as the last of it dissipated and exhaustion took over, reality began to heavily sink in.

This is it. There is nothing left to do but put the gears into motion.

A tremor coursed through her and she let out a shuddering sigh. Steeling her resolve before heading back inside, Shosanna took in one more look at the sunset, realizing it could very well be the last one she'll ever see. And then she wondered about Fredrick, wondering perhaps, if he and the rest of them even stopped to enjoy such a simple pleasure?

Suddenly, the air became electric and Shosanna felt as though she were on pins and needles. It was then that she heard a voice behind her, softly musing,

"It is an eyesore, is it not?"

Startled, Shosanna quickly spun on her heel, only to find herself face-to-chest with Fredrick Zoller. He stood posture-perfect, hands clasped behind his back and dressed in his requisite uniform, with that enchanting, crooked smile he reserved only for her. There in the twilight, Fredrick had never looked so striking: Everything from the olive green of his uniform, to his cream colored skin, brunette hair, and dark eyes were sublimely illuminated. She found herself frozen stock-still, hypnotized by the young man's features.

Shosanna's eyes wandered to his sensuous mouth as Fredrick kept his impenetrable gaze on her; she would never admit it to him, but she had committed to memory the soft curves of his lips from the moment she laid eyes upon him. Her attention then wandered from to his mouth to below his neck, as she observed the gentle rise and fall of his chest. A slight smile permeated her lips as Shosanna raised her eyes once more to meet his; deep, warm and filled with reverence for her. Neither made a sound — save for those of their breathing — and allowed for a comfortable stillness to fall over them.

For that one moment, Shosanna and Fredrick were the only people alive, the world at their backs dead to them.

And just as quickly as that moment came, it went.

Appalled by her behavior, Shosanna halted herself before her thoughts became physical; she was further forced out of her trance upon realizing that there was no space between them. Beating a hasty retreat, Shosanna stepped back from him and immediately composed herself; her posture perfectly stiff, her face a mask of serenity. Fredrick's eyes were still fixated intently upon her, and she could see a trace of hurt within them. To demonstrate his acceptance of the situation, Fredrick gave her a nod of his head.

The comfortable silence grew cumbersome.

The German war hero nervously cleared his throat as he removed his side cap with his left hand and ran his right hand through a couple of rogue forelocks. He then spoke,

"Good evening, Mademoiselle Mimieux, I hope you are well and that I am not intruding - "

Apprehension took over and Fredrick hesitated, his hands wringing his cap. Shosanna cocked her head to the side, taking the time to observe, amusedly, how the German war hero was reduced to a timid adolescent in her presence. Even when bothering her, he did so with great charm. In a show of mercy Shosanna cut in, permitting him to continue with a simple,

"Fredrick?"

And she was rewarded with his ever-widening smile as he went on,

"I know you have been quite busy today, considering all that had to be prepared for tonight, but I wanted to stop by and see you..."

Shosanna raised an eyebrow.

"...It's just that I know how difficult Jose - Herr Goebbels can be — "

Catching his error, Fredrick restrained himself. Tension set in and she clenched her jaw. If this young man was hoping to impress Shosanna further, he was certainly off to a wonderful start. Obviously agitated, Fredrick closed his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts. If there was ever a better time for Shosanna to turn around and head back into Le Gamaar, to completely cut him off before having to bear his presence in another few hours, this was it. But she preferred to hear him out instead. The side cap was subjected to more twisting and pulling in his hands as he pressed on,

"I know his mere presence is intimidating, but I want you to know, Emmanuelle, how grateful I am for you agreeing to host the premiere at Le Gamaar. The whole place could done up in paper streamers and birthday candles for all I care, as the glamour is all for the sake of the Nazi Hierarchy than it is for me; just as this whole night is for the benefit of Herr Goebbels despite anything else you may hear..."

Fredrick's voice trailed off and he directed his focus to the cap in his hands. The atmosphere, once alive with electricity, grew heavy with mood. It was downright suffocating. Growing anxious, Shosanna stared at him expectantly, silently pleading with him to speak. Raising his face to meet hers and seeing her concern, Fredrick carried on,

"This is probably rather foolish of me and could indeed wait until after the premiere and ceremony, but I want to tell you this now, when we're alone, without the interference of others, except for that of my nerves. Now, as you and I are aware, Herr Goebbels has set aside his grand visions of propaganda long enough to spare me the simple idea that I am destined for film stardom, perhaps even politics."

His demeanor hardened and he could not resist rolling his eyes at such notions. Filled with trepidation, Shosanna could not help but interject,

"Fredrick, I don't..."

He cut her off, practically spitting out his next thought,

"But after tonight, I'm walking away from all of it, from them."

Shosanna was dumbstruck. And perhaps she was imagining it, but she swore she could detect a note of disgust in his voice.

Breathing in sharply, Fredrick stood taller, prouder, than before and gave her a confident smile.

"I greatly appreciate both your friendship and your endurance of me, Mademoiselle Mimieux. Other than the sisters I left behind in Munich when I enlisted, you are the most genuine person I have had the pleasure of meeting. I have the whole country whispering in my ear, but you speak boldly and honestly; you treat me as Fredrick Zoller: Average Civilian, not Fredrick Zoller: War Hero or Fredrick Zoller: Film Star. You see, I do not care about them or their ideals, which is why it is so easy for me to walk away."

If they were (knowingly) enemies facing each other out on the battlefield, surely, he would see the gaping wounds his words had left on her. Shosanna found herself unable to breathe, as though she had been dealt a sharp blow to her abdomen. It ached with such intensity that she was certain she'd be sick. But Fredrick was unrelenting, tormenting Shosanna further.

His next request came out as a plea,

"But I care deeply about you, Emmanuelle, which is why I cannot walk away from you. If it is at all possible, and if you'll permit me, will I be able to still see you?"

If Shosanna clenched her jaw any harder, her teeth would shatter. She attempted to force her mouth open to speak, but to no avail. So there she stood, nearly gawking, mouth agape and brows knitted together. His next move would have reduced her to a bloody mess. Fredrick closed the gap between them, his eyes desperately searching hers for understanding. Shosanna felt herself falling to pieces. The entire day she stood back, more than happy to be an observer, barely uttering more than three words in her interactions with Goebbels and Landa. But here with Zoller, Shosanna spoke freely, yet cautiously now,

"You are prepared to do that?"

That infectious smile spread across his face.

"Oui," Fredrick replied, with playful defiance.

Shosanna found herself smirking. Two can play this game.

"You do know that it will not be easy, right?"

His smile unwavering,

"Oui."

Still smirking, but now narrowing her eyes, she shot back,

"What if the only solution is to exile yourself?"

Their exchange was growing more and more light-hearted, despite the seriousness of the subject matter.

With faux smugness, he answered,

"I have the whole world, if I must. Perhaps back to Munich, my sisters, and Das Kino Haus. Or how about the French Riviera? Why not Switzerland? Maybe, I'll just go to New York."

Then, lifting his eyes skyward thoughtfully, Fredrick wondered,

"And what good would all these travels be by myself? A little bit of company would be nice. Besides, after confessing this all to you, one could say that you are now my co-conspirator."

Despite herself, Shosanna smiled. But then, growing more serious, she pressed on,

"You would be willing to give up your identity if need be? To make it so that Fredrick Zoller: War Hero and, to the Allied forces, War Criminal, never existed?"

Fredrick, too, grew serious and stone-faced with his response, a quiet,

"Oui."

She wanted to look away, but his focus on her was far too strong, far too filled with need, love, and hope. Refusing to falter, Shosanna persisted,

"You cannot run away from your past so easily, Fredrick. You may be able to for a short time, but in the long run, it catches up with you."

He nodded, considering her words, before returning,

"Oui, Mademoiselle Mimieux. But you can never win or lose if you don't run the race."

His bright optimism, his charisma, and that infuriating smile would be the end of him, and of them both if she relented to him.

Becoming more introspective, Fredrick spoke again.

"Shortly after I was honored for my achievement, my sister Helga wrote me a letter. In it, she expressed her gratitude for my survival and reminded me to keep in mind the mothers of the men I killed in my prayers."

Voice strained, Shosanna inquired,

"Do you?"

For a moment, Fredrick appeared haunted. His voice was sad, almost distant,

"Oui. Every night since that weekend. I feel I did what any frightened, young soldier would do to survive, had they been in my position. I enlisted out of love of country, because I yearn for the world to return to the way it was when I was a child."

His attention to her resolute, Fredrick added determinedly,

"You see, Emmanuelle, I am willing to try."

And then, with a smile, he quipped,

"I'm not one to give up, you know that better than anyone."

Shosanna gave him a small smile, then turned to half-way face Le Gamaar.

"And so you admit that this illustrious display in your honor is meaningless?"

Turning back to Fredrick, her next question was almost a challenge,

"And you do know that you would be turning your back on the people - the country - that adores you so?"

Shosanna stared intently at him, ready to scrutinize whatever witty retort he may have.

Pause.

That damned smile.

Fredrick shrugged.

"It is all hollow."

He may not have seen it, but the blood was draining from Shosanna's body. She tried to defend herself, but he proved to be too strong. He then delivered the deathblow.

Reaching out, Fredrick took her hand in his, holding and admiring it as if it were indeed something rare and precious on this earth. Shosanna trembled and her mind screamed to resist, but it was a losing battle; she lost it the second she glanced down from the ladder and saw his beaming face gazing up at her. His voice was both contemplative and honeyed with want, both philosophical and vulgar as he whispered,

"Besides, what is the love of many compared to the love of one?"

And with that, Fredrick pressed his lips - so warm, so soft - to the back of her hand. And with that, Shosanna was dead.

She squeezed her eyes shut; her body weak and her mind rapidly following suit. Shosanna was grateful for the fact that Marcel would not return for another few hours or so, as she wanted to relish the contact of their flesh, the warmth of his breath against her. Shosanna let out a small, hushed gasp; barely audible, but to Fredrick, it was louder than any siren. She felt him smile against her skin and a shiver ran down her spine. Slowly opening her eyes, Shosanna was greeted by the sight of Fredrick admiring her, his eyes half-lidded with desire, his bright smile now a sheepish grin. Placing his side cap back on his head, Fredrick then lovingly cradled her hand in both of his as he spoke intimately, his voice barely above a whisper,

"It would be my pleasure to spend the duration of the evening with you, but as we're painfully aware, there's an event taking place that is bigger than us both."

Shosanna could feel disappointment settling in the pit of her stomach, which was obvious as Fredrick quickly appended,

"Of course, I am certain I can break away from the festivities to see you at some point tonight, as there is much between us that still remains unsaid."

Feeling dizzy, she soundlessly nodded.

Fredrick kissed her hand once more; lingering, longing, and if such emotions could be derived from a physical act, a fragment of melancholy could be felt as well. His exquisite tenderness took her breath away and he wanted nothing more than to preserve this moment for eternity; but it had to end. As Fredrick released her hand from his and stepped away to disappear into the ever-growing shadows, Shosanna could not help but feel a void left within her.

And so she stood alone, with nothing else but the thundering of her breaking heart. She wanted to run after him, screaming,

"I am Shosanna Dreyfus!"

She want to keep running until her lungs burned, to keep screaming her throat raw. She wanted to join Fredrick, to run with him until the darkness absorbed them both.

But she could not, as her body was leaden and her tongue was cut out.

Shosanna's hand burned from his absence. She raised it up for inspection, hoping to find some sort of mark, a reminder of him. Wretchedly disappointed, Shosanna balled her hand into a fist and held it tightly, until the blunt edges of her nails left crescent-shaped marks in her palm.

It was too late. Her plan had to be executed for her family. For Marcel. For every individual sentenced to death by being deemed undesirable. And Fredrick Zoller, that beautiful young man, the German War Hero who loved her, a Jewish girl, had unknowingly given her the greatest gift she had ever received:

The gift of her revenge.

To her credit, Shosanna tried to keep her distance, to turn him away. Against her better judgement, she now knew and was loved by an achingly human part of the war machine she sought to destroy. If only he hadn't been so persistent. If only he had been as heartless and brutal as the rest of them.

Fredrick Zoller, that beautiful young man, was unknowingly going to die for her that night.

There was no going back.