Darcy was in awe of the magnificent creature, The One, who she had created with her diligent searching and her blinding genius. He was utterly devoid of emotion, and somehow devoted to her. She swelled with the power and pride of the moment when suddenly an overwhelming pain racked through her chest. Clasping her hand to her chest, she gasped for breath and reached out to her progeny. There was a burning as if seared by a purging flame and Darcy collapsed to the floor.<br/><br/>Isolde lay on the floor, her hands bound together, when a blaze of light blinded her.<br/>She struggled to sit upright and caught a glimpse of a white clad man raise a golden sword above her. She flailed her head, sure that she was to be sacrificed as part of Darcy’s diabolic plotting. But only the tip touched the binding on her hands. With the flick of the blade, her hands fell free.While her wrists and shoulders had ached from the unnatural position of the bondage, the freedom sent bolts of agony through her arms.<br/><br/>The white lighter spread his wings to their fullest extent and wrapped them around her. This being was more than that guardian she had had once upon a life time but she had no point of reference in how to think of him. She closed her eyes and let the pulsating warmth flow through her. Strength and healing seemed to well up in her. When Isolde opened her eyes, the man, the being, her guardian raised her to health, saying in a rich, melodious voice<br/><br/>"Do not forsake God for the gifts he has bestowed upon you, Mademoiselle Devereaux. God loves you and will care for you. He believes in you and I will protect you. Only call for me and I will be here."<br/><br/>“Who are you?” Isolde asked, awed and a little fearful.<br/><br/>Isolde could hear screams as if someone was being tortured and Darcy’s voice crying out,<br/><br/>“Bring the witch to me! She is the cause of my pain. I will feed her to my son!”<br/><br/>The white lighter retracted his wings and aparated back into the ethereal plane in a shower of white lights.<br/><br/>Isolde sat up and smoothed her hair from her face. Narrowing her eyes, she sized up the oak door and with a flick of her wrists, opening her fingers outward, she flung power into the lock. The door rocked in its casing. Again, she did it, gathering her control and her anger. This time, the door flew outward into the hallway. Several men in Nazi uniforms were rushing toward her but Isolde was through being Mr. Nice Witch. These she dispatched, much in the same way as she had the door.<br/><br/>She ran toward the sound of Darcy’s voice with every intention of blasting the Ice Queen to a glacier somewhere north when she heard the being’s voice , “He believes in you and I will protect you.” Isolde had the strongest sense of caution against her need for revenge stop her.<br/><br/>“Okay, then, “ she muttered, “which corridor leads out? The torch at the far end of the left hallway flared. “Thanks,” she said, glancing up and ran toward it, taking out two more guards on the way.<br/><br/>She paused in the mouth of a cave , bending over trying to catch her breath. In the cave was a garage where a green canvas backed truck was parked. A swastika was boldly emblazoned on the side. Isolde rushed to it and was relieved to find the keys in the ignition. The engine ignited at first crank.<br/><br/>"Where the hell am I?" she once again asked of the air. and the air responded by blowing a roadmap down from the sun visor. The highway was marked in red with an X located in the topigraphical drawing of mountains and a star with the name of Munich beside it.<br/><br/>"Thanks again," she said with a grim smile.  And she set her course for Munich.