Just a random thing I've found from my old LA stuff. I think this was inspired by a poem or something I don't know.

Then again, I was thinking about publishing this on my fanfiction account because I remember writing this in the way that it was in Pitch's (ROTG) POV. But I'm way too lazy to replace so many things ahahha.

That day, the silence in Berlin was almost suffocating. The air was white as a loaf of wet bread and the sky- covered by clouds, graced us with no glorious blue.

They were coming today.

The breeze that danced around this town was sharp- like the sword, the gun, the piercing sound of air ripping- a sharp sound that I'd soon have to acquaint myself with. I felt a light tugging at my cloak, dainty fingers just barely able to grasp the fabric as my girl- my beautiful baby girl looked at me with eyes of sparkling emerald.

"Must you?" Her voice quivers as the breeze picks up again and my eyes can no longer stay upon her form without tearing up. She's the image of her mother, beautiful ivory and tulips woven together into a young innocent cherub. She shakes once again and I find myself picking up what little was left for me in this town of Berlin. "I told you to stay inside." I whisper yet it wasn't a whisper. She doesn't say a word, just cries as I pick my way back inside the house. She's the only warm thing winter hadn't bitten off yet, a streak of white in winter's black. I will protect her. My beautiful girl.

That was when I first saw the horses- moving like ten gods through the blanket of snow, colossal and grand in the hoof, with dreamy and elegant manes.

Still tucked into my arms, my daughter let out a choking breath. "Papa..." and I set her down.

I leave her with a kiss and she leaves me with a golden locket before I can gather the courage to venture outside. In the silence of Berlin, I stared at their color- like honey and amber and fire. There was an innocent fountain, a dance in the gold and the sky once a blank canvas opened up with a blaze.

I accepted my fate when I walked up to the man with eyes cold as winter and a fist clutching the locket like an anchor to the horror of this war's angry current.

I will never forget the light of the horses. The way my daughter cried in my arms that day. No longer was I fighting for myself but I was fighting for her too. There was but no more doubt left in my soul for the sadness this war has accompanied.

If not for me, I will change myself for her.

For my beautiful girl.

My daughter.