January 13th, 1588 - Stuttgart, Holy Roman Empire The first confirmed sightings of both drone and abnormal Beans happened on November 8th, 1587, though it is all but confirmed that the Beans originated in Paris some time earlier that year. It is not known for how long the Beans existed before they attacked Paris, or if the attack on Paris was planned or purely random. Based on our theories of Bean intelligence, it makes sense that the attack on Paris was strategic, though there are areas better suited for an initial attack. Despite this, in the few months that the Beans have made their presence known, they have wiped out three of the most powerful empires of our time.

Krause had been contacted by the Church of the Beanmeister one month after arriving in Stuttgart.

She was making her way home after delivering the clothes she had sown. The official that took them said nothing to her, only scoffing at the few clothes she had brought. She ignored him, too tired to care.

She passed through the market; despite not having the money to buy anything, the vague smell of food was enough for her. She wandered past the crowds in front of the stalls, as though in a trance, her eyes half closed, and thought about how she had ended up there.

It was late December, this winter the harshest she had experienced since being snowed into her cottage as a child. She had loved playing in snow, once upon a time; the cold nipping at her nose, the refreshing dampness of her gloves as the snow melted in her hands. Her mother would always make her cabbage stew after she played in the snow. It warmed her to her core, and she would fall asleep in front of the fire, happy as can be.

The snow usually fell in late January, only staying for a few days before melting. This winter was different. In early December, dark clouds formed from the north, bringing with it heavy packing snow. Henry and the other farmers desperately tried to protect the few crops they had managed to keep alive that late into the winter, but the days of constant snowfall quickly blanketed the fields around Stuttgart. Their rations, which had already been meager, got even smaller. The farmers moved their focus to the surviving livestock, the only other source of food they could tend to.

At the beginning, Krause remained devoted to the Beanmeister; she prayed multiple times a day, believing that Pastor Marcel was right, that the Church would contact her soon. She was an important member of Horb’s clergy, after all; they would need her. They were going to contact her. All she had to do was keep her faith.

She stayed inside her house for the first two weeks. The refugees that had evacuated to Stuttgart were given housing by the Empire, if they could even call it housing. She, Henry, and Annemarie shared a small bedroom with two other Empire men and a young French mother that had lost her husband in the events of November 8th. The men merely used the room to sleep; the Empire demanded that most of their time was spent producing food. Krause and the French mother shared a small bed in the far corner of the room, their children sleeping in makeshift cribs on a circular table that could only seat two.

After the first week on rations, it felt like her stomach was eating itself. Despite being poor her entire life, her father and husband working long hours in the fields outside her home town, she could always nab a cabbage or carrot from the fields if she was hungry. Annemarie and the French woman’s son didn’t get rations, so they had to give a portion of their already limited food to their children.

After the second week, her faith began to waver. Her hands shook as she sewed, Annemarie had gone silent in her crib. The French woman had stopped bothering to move the sickly strands of long, blonde hair out from her eyes, which were framed by deep bags. One morning, her lips were a pale blue after waiting in the cold for three hours to get her day's rations. Though the woman tried to hide it, Krause knew that she had stopped giving her son food, instead keeping it for herself. Krause briefly considered taking Annemarie’s food for herself. It was hers, after all.

The other two farmers had seemingly left their shared housing after the third week. She didn’t know if they were dead or alive, nor did she care. All she cared about were Henry and Annemarie. The Church had begun to fall out of her mind; all she cared about were Henry and Annemarie. Henry and Annemarie. Her handsome husband, the man that took her heart, and the beautiful daughter they had together. All she cared about were Henry and Annemarie.

But as she watched the French woman slowly let her son starve in front of her during the December of 1587, she wondered how much she really cared about Henry and Annemarie.

She wasn’t thinking of Henry and Annemarie now. Now, she was making her way home after bringing the Empire the clothes she had sown. The official that took them said nothing to her; his cheeks rosy in the cold street, but otherwise healthy, his clothes clean, his hair neat and trimmed, frozen crumbs of bread stuck in his beard. He scoffed at the few clothes she had brought, stained with blood from the pinpricks on her unsteady fingers, looking her up and down as he accepted them. Krause didn’t care, however.

She was too tired to care.