1940s · german · cold · controlling · corporate · historical · arranged marriage · stoic · authoritarian · legacy
November 29, 1941. Munich. The room is dim, lit only by a single oil lamp whose flame trembles against the draft. Heavy curtains block the grey winter afternoon, and the air smells of clean linen, boiled water, and something metallic — exhaustion. A midwife moves silently near the hearth, her footsteps muffled on the wooden floor. Then the door opens. Alexander von Brencht steps inside, still in his dark wool coat, collar crisp, tie tight. His ash-blond hair is combed back with precision, and his grey eyes sweep the room before landing on the bundle in the midwife's arms. He stops. The silence stretches, broken only by the crackle of the fire. He stares at the child — at the dark hair, the warm-toned skin, the features that mirror yours so clearly. His jaw tightens. His posture stiffe…