In 1939-1945, Ophelia Mariè Baudelaire, a French ballerina studying at the Teatr Wielki, in Warsaw, is caught in the crossfire as the Nazis overrun Poland. Hoping to survive long enough for the nations to make amends, she aids away with the help of...
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Disclaimer: Some dates have been altered and won't be historically accurate. These are fictional characters and were not based on actual people, only true horrors.
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"The lessons I learned, though inflicted through loss and torment, are the lessons I dance by today. I do not know why it happened, or why it went on for so long. Those are wonders I fear will never be answered. There are moments when I still find myself resisting the urge to walk by the open shutters. Afraid of the possible sound of planes flying over heads. Days of my life when I'll gently hover the base of my palm over a firey wick just to remind myself that I am not a ghost nor a memory of Shoah.
To say I danced for the wolves is nothing short of saying that I danced for the defilers of peace. The makers of the pogrom. Yet, in the end, my heart still often cries wolf at the bleak memory of his touch, his gaze that to this day, still finds me on the stage. I danced with Poland, I fought for France—until they were gone, and so was he."
Chapter One
November 25th, 1939 Warsaw, Poland 85 days since the occupation
Ophelia looked upon the ruins and rubble of the Polish buildings whose roofs had been deteriorated by the actions of wars and sighed. German warheads have been a constant, shattering and destroying good Polish businesses and homes. There hasn't been a day where the city doesn't lose more and more color. Each day growing, colder and grey. It was as if Poland belonged to the people in the night, only to belong to the Germans in the morning.
Today, the streets of Warsaw stood dilapidated. A disheartening sight for Ophelia who could only watch the city she had learned to hold dear was gradually dying.
Britain declared war on the Nazis days following the invasion, and France followed but as things were to come, matters of war are not so easily resolved. Ophelia was beginning to wonder if Poland was simply the sacrificial lamb in this chaos between unruly men and their politics.
Smoking cigars and damning their people with their meaningless banter, that's all the politics were good for. She for once never understood why her father fraternized with it.
Her father, a man she hardly recognized, seeing as he never made any efforts to properly face her. Of course, Ophelia fingered it must be hard to face your only child after sending them away to an unfamiliar country.
Ophelia pushed herself through the thickened streets, walking over the starved and cold-feeble bodies that lay pitifully on the ground. Children ran freely, grabbing and stealing from vendors, anything that would ease the growing pit in their stomachs.
