*Author's Note: Critique and commentary is always very welcomed! Any ideas of what you'd like to see in the next chapter is also grand :) *

Elsa had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep, her body too drained from the past weeks of fear and survival to conjure even a fragment of imagination. The bed, though stiff and uncomfortable, had provided her a reprieve, and she didn’t stir until the first pale light of dawn filtered into the room. Slowly, she opened her eyes and turned toward the cracked window. Below, the street cleaners were already at work, their brooms scraping against the cobblestones in rhythmic swipes. Behind them, a small pack of feral dogs trailed closely, noses to the ground, scavenging for any scraps left behind. It was a bleak scene, yet one so ordinary that it momentarily comforted her—life continued, even in this misery.

She turned her gaze to Uwe, still tangled in the thin blanket, his face twisted in distress as he murmured unintelligibly in his sleep. Watching him, a flicker of resentment bubbled in her chest. Her mind wandered back to the previous night, his hands insistent, his whispered words heavy with desire despite her obvious exhaustion. She had pushed him away, her voice sharp but steady, and his frustration had been palpable. Now, seeing him struggle in his dreams, she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disgust—not only for his inability to control himself when she needed peace, but for the weakness that seemed to define him lately.

Elsa sighed, pulling her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.

Elsa sat at the small, unsteady table, a piece of stale bread in her hand. She tore off small chunks, chewing slowly as she stared at the newspaper left folded under the door. It smelled faintly of ink and dust, the corners slightly curled from the damp. She smoothed it flat with her hands, squinting at the columns of job advertisements. Her cardigan hung loosely over her shoulders, torn at the seams, and her bare feet were cold against the cracked wooden floor.

Her eyes paused on one listing in particular: “Executive Assistant Wanted – Werber’s Factory. Apply in person.” Elsa’s heart quickened. Werber’s Factory was known for its booming business, even in these difficult times. The position seemed beyond her reach, yet there it was—a sliver of hope in a world that had offered so little lately.

She leaned back in the chair, pressing her lips together as her mind raced. She could apply today; the address was just a short walk away. But her thoughts snagged on a problem she couldn’t ignore: her appearance. The blouse and skirt she had worn from the village were wrinkled and patched, far from what would be acceptable for a professional role.

Elsa tapped her finger on the table, her gaze drifting toward the coffee tin on the shelf. Uwe had stashed their remaining banknotes there after paying for the rent. With the little money they had left, she could rent something suitable from Frau Beck, the neighbor known for loaning out her dresses and shoes for a price. It wasn’t ideal, but Elsa had no choice. She rose from the table, moving toward the tin, her footsteps light but deliberate.

Sliding off the lid, she felt the faintest pang of guilt as she thumbed through the worn bills, but it was quickly buried by the determination to act. If she didn’t do this, no one would. Gripping the money tightly, Elsa set her jaw and glanced toward the window, where the pale morning light spilled over the peeling wallpaper.

Elsa stood outside Frau Beck’s door, the chipped paint on the frame matching the general disrepair of the building. She hesitated for a moment, clutching the small bundle of banknotes in her hand, before knocking softly. The sound echoed in the hallway, and after a pause, the door creaked open to reveal Frau Beck, her sharp eyes peering out suspiciously.

“What do you want, girl?” the older woman asked, her tone brusque. She stood in her housecoat, her arms crossed, her graying hair pulled back into a tight bun. The faint smell of cabbage wafted from inside the apartment.

Elsa swallowed, forcing herself to speak with confidence. “I need to borrow a dress and shoes, Frau Beck. Something suitable for an office job. I can pay,” she added quickly, holding up the crumpled bills.

Frau Beck’s expression shifted slightly, her calculating gaze moving over Elsa from head to toe. “A dress and shoes, you say?” she muttered, tapping her chin. Then, with a curt nod, she stepped back. “Fine. Come in.”

Frau Beck’s apartment was slightly larger than the cramped space Elsa and Uwe called home, but it felt far more chaotic. The living room was cluttered and noisy, filled with people who seemed to share the space with little regard for privacy. An old man lay coughing on a thin mattress in the corner, a hacking, wet sound that seemed to shake his frail body. A young girl, likely in her late teens, stood near a cracked mirror, trying to fix her hair for work while shielding herself from prying eyes with a shawl draped over her shoulders. Across the room, two boys fought over a piece of stale bread, their voices low but fierce, their thin arms flailing as they wrestled for control.

Frau Beck moved through the crowded room with practiced indifference, stepping over the old man’s mattress and brushing past the squabbling boys without a glance. “Come,” she said sharply, and Elsa followed her, carefully weaving through the chaos. They reached a small wooden door, and Frau Beck opened it, stepping into her bedroom before closing the door firmly behind them.

The room was a world apart from the rest of the apartment. Though modest, it was organized and almost cozy, with a small stove in the corner and a cupboard stocked with dishes and jars. A faint smell of lavender mingled with the underlying musk of the old building. Frau Beck’s bed was neatly made, the patchwork quilt worn but clean. Next to the wardrobe stood a narrow shelf, and above it hung a series of photographs framed in tarnished gold. Elsa’s gaze lingered on them: faded images of Frau Beck in her youth, standing beside foreign royals and actors. In one, she posed in a glittering can-can dress, her face youthful and proud, her smile wide and full of confidence.

“You like those?” Frau Beck asked, catching Elsa’s wandering eyes. Her voice softened just slightly, and she walked over to the shelf, brushing a finger over one of the frames. “That was a long time ago. I danced in Paris, Vienna… even Berlin, before it all fell apart.” Her tone was wistful but tinged with bitterness, as though the memories were both a comfort and a wound.

Elsa quickly looked away, unsure how to respond. Frau Beck let out a small sigh and straightened, her sharp demeanor returning. “Enough of that. You’ll pay me five marks,” Frau Beck announced as she shuffled toward a wardrobe in the corner. She opened it with a sharp pull, revealing a modest selection of dresses, all slightly outdated but still neat. “No haggling. If you ruin anything, you owe me double.”

Elsa nodded, her gaze fixed on a simple navy dress hanging near the front. It looked clean and presentable, the kind of thing a secretary might wear. Frau Beck followed her gaze and snatched it from the hanger, tossing it onto the sofa with a pair of scuffed black heels.

“Take off your clothes and try the navy dress,” the woman said curtly. “And don’t waste my time.”

Elsa hesitated, clutching the navy dress tightly against her chest as Frau Beck’s sharp eyes bore into her. The idea of undressing in front of someone, even another woman, filled her with a deep sense of shame. She glanced at the door, the faint sounds of coughing and arguing from the crowded apartment filtering through. Outside the bedroom was far worse—there was no privacy, no reprieve from the chaos.

“Come now,” Frau Beck said impatiently, hands on her hips. “I don’t have all day, and neither do you. If you’re serious about this job, you’d best hurry.”

Elsa shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks flushing. “I’ll manage,” she mumbled, turning slightly away to try and buy herself some dignity.

Frau Beck’s expression hardened. “Nonsense. You’re wasting time, girl. Here.” Without waiting for permission, she stepped forward, her movements brisk and matter-of-fact. Before Elsa could protest, Frau Beck’s hands were at her shoulders, tugging at her torn cardigan. “Off with this. It’s no good fretting now.”

Elsa froze, a wave of humiliation washing over her as Frau Beck deftly removed the cardigan, exposing the thin, patched blouse underneath. “You’ve nothing I haven’t seen before,” Frau Beck muttered, her tone both practical and dismissive. “I’ve dressed dancers backstage in worse states.”

With a mix of frustration and resignation, Elsa allowed Frau Beck to unbutton the blouse, her fingers trembling as she reluctantly helped. The undergarments were torn, holes in multiple parts, and there were spots that made them disgusting. Her patched undergarments and the faint dirt on her skin felt glaringly obvious under Frau Beck’s scrutinizing gaze. “Good heavens,” Frau Beck said, not unkindly but with clear disapproval. “This won’t do. You’ll need to wash properly before you go to that interview. First impressions, girl—they matter.” Elsa nodded silently, biting her lip to keep the sting of tears at bay.

Frau Beck’s pulled down the undergarments, Elsa standing completely naked. Frau Beck gave a good look, head to toe “Look at this pube,” she remarked, her tone half-critical, half-amused. “Looks like it hasn’t seen a proper wash in weeks. You’re going make the room stink. Here you go use this wet cloth to clean up up” Elsa proceed to clean up her pubic hair, inner thighs.

You’re skin and bones,” Frau Beck said bluntly, shaking her head. “That dress is hanging on you like a sack. Do you ever eat?”

Elsa shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks flushing. “I… I do, Frau Beck,” she murmured, lowering her gaze.

“Not enough, clearly,” Frau Beck shot back, her tone clipped but not entirely unkind. “Look at you. No man wants a girl who looks like she might blow away in the wind. You’ll need more than just a dress to make an impression.”

She stepped into the navy dress, her movements stiff with embarrassment as Frau Beck adjusted the fabric and smoothed the hem. “There now,” Frau Beck said, stepping back to assess her handiwork. “It’ll do.”

For Elsa, the dress felt heavy, both physically and emotionally—a symbol of the lengths she had to go to for a chance at survival. Yet she straightened her posture, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She could feel Frau Beck’s satisfaction as she handed over the black shoes. “Now go. And make sure you bring it all back in one piece.”

Elsa steps quickly out of Frau Beck’s apartment, avoiding the cacophony behind her. The young boys were still quarreling over scraps, and the old man coughed hoarsely from his mattress on the floor. The air was heavy with the smell of damp and unwashed bodies, but Elsa paid it no mind. She clutched the borrowed dress tightly around her, her cheeks still flushed from Frau Beck’s sharp remarks. Her only thought was to get back to the apartment and prepare for the interview.

Pushing the door open, she found Uwe sitting on the edge of their tattered couch, looking groggy and irritated. He squinted at her, his gaze falling immediately to the unfamiliar dress.

“Where did you get that?” Uwe asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

“From Frau Beck,” Elsa replied tersely, hanging her coat on the back of the chair. She began to comb her fingers through her hair, trying to pull it into something presentable.

“And how much did that cost us?” he pressed, his voice rising.

Elsa paused, shooting him a sharp glance. “Does it matter? I needed something decent to wear for the interview.”

Uwe stood, his frustration evident in his clenched fists. “It matters when we barely have enough to eat! You can’t just—”

“Stop it, Uwe!” Elsa snapped, cutting him off. “I’m doing this for both of us. Or would you rather I sit here all day like you, waiting for miracles that won’t come?”

Uwe’s face darkened, but he said nothing.

Without waiting for a response, Elsa grabbed her coat, slipping it over the borrowed dress with hurried, jerky movements. “I don’t have time for this,” she muttered, tying the belt tightly around her waist.

Uwe finally spoke, his voice bitter. “Fine. Go. But don’t act like you’re the only one trying.”

Elsa glared at him, her cheeks hot with anger. “At least I’m trying,” she shot back.

Not giving him the chance to respond, she yanked the door open and stepped out into the chilly corridor, letting the heavy door slam behind her. The cold air hit her face as she stormed down the stairs, muttering under her breath.