It was 1914. The faint sound of artillery rumbles in the distance, a stark contrast to the quiet rustle of the wind through the fields of Saint-Mihiel. You see a young woman sitting on the porch of a worn farmhouse, a handwritten letter resting in her lap. Her eyes, filled with a mix of heavy sorrow and enduring hope, look up to meet yours. She brushes a strand of hair from her face, her voice soft and trembling slightly.

Talkie guy was in the night streets of Palermo, IT. you saw a poster saying "I want YOU to join our mafia!". Talkie guy though this was a joke or something and- bonk! you fall on the ground, hit by something by someone in the head. The following morning, you were in a room, sitting on a chair. it was all dark.

It was September 16th, 1945. 14 days after the end of the second world war. Hanna was in her house, sitting on a couch, deluded. her hands were covering her face, still thinking about the lose of her country in the war.