She watched. She watched while he smiled, laughed and charmed his way into people lives. She watched as he led the innocent on with silly banter and oil slicked flammable words. Only to destroy them piece by piece and laugh as they burned tormented at the lose of whatever hope and trust they had in humanity as a whole. She watched his subtle gestures that made him seem as if he was dancing with the most glorious partner made to match his every move and whim. She watched as he walked so sure of himself, gliding as if he was on a stage and the audience eyed him in rapture. And watched as he threw back his head in gleeful laughter at doing his job so well, his audience chained to they're seats rapture forgotten. She knows he never really cared about the fuhrer he serves. Its his own game he's been playing. And when this hell ends he'll find away to survive.

So she waited. Day by day, her thoughts wrapping him closer to her body. Until she could feel him underneath her rips. She waited till he would be drawn to her like a moth to the bright lights on the Paris boulevards. Till he would be wrapped around her, skimming her sweat off her body like the fresh milk he so loved. She waited until she could see the blue of his eyes twinkle like burning stars crashing to earth, exploding in her skulls for all their ferocity. She waited, hoping and praying to be the source of his every agony. Every labored breath he drew and every thought before he lost consciousness every night.

He was her every breath, torment turned into ecstasy. Hate turning so slowly into obsession. That burning need turning into something darker and more dangerous than the act of revenge. That at least would end in death, even if he lived he would know. She waited and watched as her obsession turned into love. Never the kind to give, no this was the type to cause empires to fall and civilization to shatter. She wanted him to crawl to her begging as she wanted to do to him. Crawl as she did into his shadow, hoping for his bed. It is a well known fact women were always the cause of strong men failing. Temptresses holding on to an invisible chain letting they're little toy have its fun. She wanted to consume as to spit him out and break him. Just as she broke so long ago in his mocking laughing gaze. As she broke running from him, blood pouring from her back as weak tears poured from her eyes. Blinding her to only the ever present thought of him.

Determined in her goal, she learned tricks. How to smile just right, tilt her head in the proper direction, titter at the most appropriate jokes and when to tease and show just a small amount of what she had to offer. All the while teaching herself languages, facts and ideals to endear herself to him. She questioned what he wanted. A taller woman with a dramatic profile or a woman with soft curves and the possibility of bearing his protege. She decided neither of these ideas would work. So she trained on being elegant, quiet as to not give away any of her knowledge, intellectual or otherwise. She kept her hair darker, hinting at promises whispered into skin while darkness bathes and the hint of teeth could felt in the spine. She would match his older well known ways, his walk that commanded attention with her own stroll, his laugh with her head thrown back and neck exposed laughter echoing in her eyes. His casual polite touch with her own slightly lingering caresses. Match his power with her willingness to undo all that makes him a man.

Hans Landa will feel her deep inside, haunting him all soft parts and mystery calling to him. Showing her parts to him. He will learn regret. Be it in a year, a day, before or after the war. She could have been his.