The Wolf Ballet || WW2

11. The Wolf Ballet

Chapter Eleven

Streets lamps had only just begun to brighten once Ophelia found herself looking up at a decrepit old building. Taking in the clouded windows, leaky pipes, and decaying foundation, she found it hard to believe the level of ruins the people of Poland were being coerced to live in.

Releasing a heavy breath from between her lips, the mental pull this war was having over Ophelia was intense.

She was tired of feeling helpless, weak, and sad. All she could ask for was for everything to stop. Even if it were just for a moment if she could simply just not feel the way she was feeling for a matter of a second—well, she'd give the world for it.

"It'd be lights out soon," Madame reminded, guiding Ophelia up the concrete steps. "Let's get inside my girl,"

The inside of the apartment building was solemn and dry. Lights flickered as the ground on which it stood rattled in the wake of another night's forthcoming battle. Ophelia had come to believe that the air bombings have ceased with the conquering of every major city in Poland. To her dismay, it was apparent that she was wrong.

"There have been some revolts around the neighboring cities," Bal clarified as if she could see into Ophelia's mind.

"The Germans have made it clear of the severity in which they will retaliate those who raise against them. Of course, we must not be too surprised—this is a man's war after all."

Ophelia's stare shifted to the floor, sad-filled, and weary. Madame allowed Ophelia to walk first, entering the cold, blue-hued living section of the flat. Footsteps above her head unsettled the resting white debris of the ceiling. Something that took Ophelia by surprise was the fact that it was not just her who Madame had taken beneath her wing.

Figures of slumbering bodies were sprawled out throughout the room. Resting on couches, rugs, and even tables. Looking down at her feet, Ophelia stepped away, almost nearly tripping over the frail body of a young girl.

The ballerina looked at her teacher with a side glance. Unanswered questions roamed through her mind, but Madame seem more keen on getting her student settled before she could answer any curious thinking.

"Come, I'll show you to your bed," Bal sighed, leading the way for Ophelia to follow without disturbing the others.

The two of them walked through the dark hall, only stopping at the end of the corridor. Where's Geizla reached into her coat and pulled out a key. Waiting for her teacher to open the door, there was one thing Ophelia had to ask.

"Did you find your son?"

Geizla stopped fiddling with the lock for a moment and looked over to young Ophelia. Grey hairs fell over her thin, slightly wrinkled face.

Ophelia recalled Geizla Bal stating she would come to Krakow in search of her son and granddaughter. She would hope that at least one of them got to their loved ones.

"Yes," was all Madame Bal could say as she pushed the door ajar. However, the way she said it was not in a tone many would expect from such relieving words.

Ophelia followed her into what seemed like a man's study. Dark thick blinds covered the centered bay windows, as expected. In the center of it, just in front, was an empty wooden chair with a large mahogany desk framing it as an office. Beside it, in the far right corner of the room was a brown leather couch.

"I apologize for not providing proper accommodations, but all the other rooms are—"

"No," Ophelia cut her teacher off, "please," she continued softly, taking in an anxious breath of air.