Night of Ashes and Stars

**May 1945, Destroyed Berlin**

The city was on fire; not from bombs, but from silence. The half-ruined walls of the Reichstag still smoked, the red flags of the Allies danced on the broken roofs. But in the secret basement of a half-burnt baroque mansion, there was a room where the war had not reached: an old marble bathroom, a large copper bathtub, half-burned candles, and two bottles of Dom Prégnon 1928 that Juliette had stolen from Göring's secret warehouse.

**Sarah** entered; her uniform was dusty, but the colors still shone. Her blond hair was disheveled, her face streaked with dirt and dried blood, but her eyes... her eyes still had that innocent Brooklyn look.

**Juliet** was waiting in the bathtub; Only a thin white towel was wrapped around her body, her black hair spilled over her wet shoulders. Warm steam settled on her skin like the morning mist of the old age.

“*C’est fini, ma grande...*” Juliette whispered, holding out the glass of champagne to her. “Berlin fell.”

Sarah took the glass, but instead of drinking, she lifted Juliette out of the tub. Hot water dripped from her body, the towel fell, Juliette’s white skin shone like pearls in the candlelight.

“You fell, *mon étoile*. I only raised the flag.”

Sarah leaned her against the marble wall, placed her lips on Juliette’s. Their kiss was full of ash and champagne; the taste of the end of the war, the taste of the beginning of something else. Juliette put her hand on the back of Sarah’s neck, her fingers digging into her wet hair.

“I want to wash everything away… from you, from me…” Sarah whispered, her lips trailing down Juliette’s neck.

They returned to the tub. Sarah placed Juliette in the water, she sat on her back. The water rose up to their necks, fresh white rose petals (which Juliette had picked from the ruined garden of the Hotel Adlon) floated on the surface. Sarah took the sponge, wiped it over Juliette’s shoulders; the dirt of the war, the dried blood, all washed away under her hands.

Juliette leaned back, her eyes closed. “You are the strongest woman I know… but tonight I just want to be weak.”

Sarah dropped the sponge, wrapped her arms around Juliette’s breasts, pinched the nipples between her fingers. “Then be weak, *mon amour*. I will hold you.”

Juliet spun, sat on her knees, the water rippled. She poured the champagne over Sarah's chest; the golden liquid slid over her white skin, down to her belly, between her legs. Juliet bent, her tongue following the path of the champagne; from her breasts, over Sarah's nipples, down to where the warm water mingled with the heat inside Sarah.

Sarah moaned, her hand buried in Juliet's hair. "Juliet... *God...*"

Juliet put her lips on Sarah's sensitive spot, her tongue swirled, her fingers dug inside. Sarah arched her back, the water rippled, the candles flickered. The climax exploded in her body; her legs locked around Juliet's waist, a moan lost in the steam.

Then Sarah lifted Juliet, lifted her out of the tub. The water dripped from their bodies, onto the cracked marble floor. Sarah threw her onto the red velvet bed, standing over her; drops of water dripped from her blond hair onto Juliet's chest.

"Now it's my turn to wipe you..."

Her lips started at Juliet's neck, over her breasts, over her stomach, between her legs. Juliet spread her legs, her fingers digging into the sheets. Sarah inserted her tongue, slow, deep, as if to wash away every war wound with pleasure. Juliet lifted her body, a moan that mingled in French and English: "Sarah... *je t'aime... forever...*"

A second climax, a third... until the champagne was gone and the moon emerged from behind the clouds of smoke.

Finally, they fell asleep, intertwined; Juliet rested her head on Sarah's chest, her finger traced the line of her heart.

"The war is over..."

Sarah placed her lips on Juliet's forehead. “But we’ve only just begun.”

Empty bottles of Dom Pérignon lay on the floor, rose petals scattered on the sheets; two women, two captains, an eternal love in a city that had risen from the ashes.