The Wolf Ballet || WW2

43. The Wolf Ballet

Chapter Forty-Three

Ophelia was the first to walk away, removing her hand from the wolf's chest, she decided that perhaps she had made a mistake in meeting him.

"I don't even know why I bothered; you wolves are all but the same!" She exclaimed, a troubled expression identifying itself upon her soft features. Arthur's stare followed Ophelia as she maneuvered around his staggering height. His mind, in that second, caught mention of the term thrown at him.

"Wolves?" Arthur's curiosity was suddenly piqued.

Ophelia's pace seemed to gradually slow down as she instantly realized that she had unintentionally used the term she had been using about the Nazis. She hadn't meant to use it; it just slipped out in the spur of the moment. Nevertheless, there was no point in trying to deny she had said it, it was just a silly name—there was no need to hide it, especially from this man. Turning only half of her body to face him, she crossed her arms and nodded, "Well yes, hunting in packs, forsaking and preying on the weak—ranks and status among each other, is that not how savages operate? How are you Nazis any different from that?"

Arthur found himself strangely amused by her little analogy. Not that he was proud to be grouped with Hitler and the rest, but seeing as he was wearing the Nazi emblem upon his arm, there was no excuse for exemption. Tilting his head, Arthur took a few steps in advance, his arms now perfectly tucked behind his back as they often were. Ophelia stayed in place but did grow cautious. She avoided looking at him until he was only but a few inches from the top of her head. Sensing his steady breath near the edge of her ear, Ophelia would wait until he spoke the words that were hanging off the tip of his tongue.

"Surely you don't believe we are all the same," Arthur argued, but Ophelia seemed persistent on not giving in to what they both refused to admit openly to each other. Like a vibrating tickle that would raise all the hairs on her neck, Ophelia turned to gaze up at Arthur, their unrevealing gazes meeting once more.

"Would you have come if Schulz, the man who stole your necklace asked? Or what about Durchdenwald, the captain who assaulted you at the banquet? Would you have come to meet him in a dark alley?"

Ophelia would have no proper response to those questions, and it annoyed her to think that Von Wolff already knew what she would say if she did say anything. Looking around, she noticed more bystanders were beginning to form around the street. A woman sweeping the front steps to her shop, another four men conversing on the other side of the road. The idea of someone who knew her, like Leonard or Savannah coming to find her made her conscious of her surroundings—suddenly she was anxious about being seen with Von Wolff.

With an apprehensive huff, Ophelia quickly retreated into the brick promenade. Taking shelter beside the large crates that rested along the side of the building, she knew Arthur would follow suit.

"What is that you want really, Mr. Wolf?" Ophelia spoke leisurely, as she turned back to face him. Her eyes showed she was just as confused in her unreasonable actions. "If you're looking to make my co-existence in Germany all the more uncomfortable, and dreadful, I beg you to stop,"

Ophelia for once was able to step away from her thoughts and delusions of whatever it was that lured her to this impossible man and spoke with all sense of rationality.

"You already declared you know of my secret, and wouldn't share it, so though I may not think the worst you compared to the others—you're still a Nazi man."

Ophelia's words were cold but truthful. His good endeavors upon her had caused her to lower her defenses much more than she was comfortable but she could never truly trust in him. At least that's what she felt at the moment. If she was here with him now, it was because she wanted to see something out for herself. It also didn't help that she had a curious heart by nature and wanted to know what it was. Surely, he hadn't pulled her aside so that they could argue—though she had no doubt he was good at that.