The Wolf Ballet || WW2

49. The Wolf Ballet

Chapter Forty-Nine

It was an antagonizing feeling—one that could only leave you breathless in a way that stifled your body from any means of moving. Ophelia felt she was glued to her seat, as she watched a strange woman prepare her a morning drink.

"Danke," Ophelia sighed, thanking the woman as she poured her a cup of tea. The servant nodded, eyeing Ophelia strangely before walking out the door.

Ophelia stared at the reflective China and frowned. Picking it up, she smelled it, praying it wasn't what she believed it'd be. Of course, it would only take a sip to confirm her suspicions. Once again, Ophelia was defeated—wilted by the sadness that seemed to only infest her waking being.

Tonga Tea—the tea that was commonly known for being produced in Poland—the country the Nazis now occupied. A country Ophelia knew very well was now in empirical devastation. It was strong, but it hadn't been the warm herbal sip that had left a bitterness in her mouth.

Arthur had stepped away to answer a sudden call. The French dancer avoided looking at him from the other room, too engrossed with the tormented idea of death. She felt the fool in believing the war had quieted down. Naive she was in assuming the Germans had one day ceased their mindless attacks on people. Ophelia recognized that perhaps she had been isolated from reality far too much—the quietness that surrounded her in Marburg was keeping her from keeping true to herself. She wasn't here to live out her life in an invading country—to find romance and settle down in the country.

Seeing the ebony rising ashes from the stench-filled mist reminded her of that.

She was a fool indeed—and it discomforted her greatly to think that Arthur could very much have something to do with it.

'Of course,' she thought to herself, 'of course, he had to have known. Impossible, had he not.'

Ophelia would pick up on the distant voice of Arthur as he spoke from within the conjoined room. The door was ajar but merely, only occasionally would she catch a glimpse of her fiancee as he walked by. A part of her was relieved she hadn't uttered more than a greeting to the man. She was still debating whether or not she intended to ask about the camp. There was no question about what was burning away in those fields—the smell, a grievance to anyone who identified it. Ophelia left the camp before the infernos could be completed—but she was there for the fires.

She wasn't in charge of disposing of the dead whilst in Auschwitz. She assumed it was mainly because she was a woman, or perhaps they thought she was just too weak to carry the weight. Nevertheless, she was aware of how they would jettison them. The dark, black shallow pits, bodies upon bodies—up flames in an instant.

Looking out into the open window beside her, Ophelia's face soused in despair. The smoke was no longer as strong as it had been just hours prior—nothing but a lingering trail that would taint the heavens remained as her reminder.

"Sehr gut, ich werde da sein,"

She overheard Arthur say in German. She understood it, but briefly—Ophelia could vaguely confirm that he was agreeing to meet someone as soon as they arrived. Whoever was coming to see him couldn't be a company well-kept, as she picked a slight annoyance in his tone.

In correlation to that, Ophelia undoubtedly knew she would ask him about the little white lie he had his men sprout from the abyss. She arrived at the castle believing she was summoned to meet the maker of Nazis. It was a believable, yet very exaggerated lie. Ophelia was anxious beyond comprehension at the thought of having been called upon by Hitler himself. She held no desire to ever meet him—though deep down she understood it was always a possibility. Especially if she was to continue to play as Katrina Hass.