Isolde readied herself for bed and realized how exhausted she was. Every bone in her body ached from the experience of selling herself to Erlind. Refusing to dwell on that or to feel sorry for herself, she turned out the lights and stood to admire the lake view once more. Dreamy thoughts of tomorrow night’s ball filled her as she imagined herself floating down the stairs in that wonderful pink ballgown. Going to a real ball with a silk gown trimmed in ermine was like a fairytale come true.  Finally, when a huge yawn nearly split her face, she lay down.<br/><br/>Sounds of footsteps in the hall and occasional bursts of laughter or Heil! permeated the thick door. Isolde tossed over, covering her head with one of the pillows and burying herself under the thick duvet. Thoughts of the evening swirled around her like ravens swooping in to pluck out her eyes. She noticed she was holding her breath and her limbs stiff as if she was in danger. Consciously breathing deeply, she forced herself to relax and drifted off into a troubled sleep.<br/><br/>Her dreams immediately began to be peopled with troubling images of tormented souls that she could not quite reach to save. She ran through streets where every building was on fire. In the dream she wore the lovely pink ballgown and she frantically thought, “I must not spoil the dress” even as she raced over mud and dead bodies. Isolde swam to consciousness in a cold sweat, seeking out the dress on the manikin silhouetted in the bright moonlight flooding through the window.<br/><br/>She turned over and feel heavily asleep this time. Time in this segment of sleep was slower, thicker and Isolde dreamed she was with a man, maybe Erlind and someone else, she couldn’t quite make out his face. They were going down a quiet tree lined street to a modest house marked by window boxes. The man shoved open the neat white door and they barged into a living room turned bedroom. A hospital bed was erected where a coach should go and medicine bottles lined up on the side table. A frail person was on the pillow. She struggled to see. It was Adolph Hitler. The man told her, “it is your task to kill him.” Isolde was stunned. This damaged human could not be the monster all feared. He was emaciated and had but one finger on both of his hands. She turned to go and the creature lunged from the bed, threatening to kill the man. Isolde picked up a ladder back chair and bashed, and bashed, and bashed,  and bashed, until the man’s head rolled from his body. Isolde woke up with a gasp and her heart pounding uncontrollably in her chest.<br/><br/>In her befuddled state, she saw a figure standing next to her bed. She gathered the duvet to her chest and huddled under it.<br/><br/>“Well, cousin,” came a sultry voice from the black figure, “you have made yourself quite a catch, n’est pas?”<br/><br/>Darcy! Isolde shook her head. Was she still dreaming?<br/><br/>“I can’t have that, now. He is a very, very strong demon and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” She purred with a parting stab of ice, “or influence him against ‘the plan’”.<br/><br/>“Darcy?” Isolde asked, wiping her eyes and squinting. “What are you doing in my room?”<br/><br/>A hand out of the darkness behind her covered her mouth with a rag soaked in something sweet. As Isolde began to lose herself to oblivion she realized it was ether. She was awake just long enough to watch horrified as Darcy stood over her in the bed, feet on either side of her and began to trace a spiral in the air, wider and wider until the circles of it would encompass the two of them. The air began to sizzle.<br/><br/>The last thing Isolde saw was the rose colored ballgown standing vigil in the corner of the room, seeming to be backlit by a white winged creature with a drawn golden sword. Then the world turned black and she had a final sensation of flying.