DreamLyrics™ Play-by-Post Forums Thread Like Summary - ACS: A Dark Road

{Isabella}

The sleek, two-tone 1939 Delahaye 135M convertible roadster sliced through the rain-soaked night, as Isabella gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled determination. The roar of the engine was drowned out by the relentless downpour on the thin canvas roof and the windshield wipers battled to keep her view clear.

The Delahaye's powerful headlights cut through the curtain of rain, revealing the treacherous road ahead. The air was thick with tension as Isabella navigated the winding path, the trees on either side of the road bent low under the fury of the storm.

In the passenger seat, a briefcase contained her book of notes on the recent findings on the Eldritch. A secret fold on the interior also contained coded documents and multiple identification papers.

As she drove, Isabella's thoughts were consumed by her departure from Paris hours earlier….

The grand halls of the Musee du Louvre, once filled with the whispers of art enthusiasts and the hushed admiration of masterpieces, now lay cloaked in an eerie silence. The Nazi occupation of Paris had cast a pall over the city of lights, and the museum, with its treasures of civilization, was not immune to the invasion. The blonde Austrian had watched from the shadows as Sophia Delacroix, a brilliant historian and scholar, walked through the vast gallery, her steps echoing in the emptiness. Her raven hair cascaded in waves down her back, and her eyes, a deep shade of green, betrayed a sense of melancholy that mirrored the times.

The paintings on the walls, once vibrant with color and life, now seemed to weep under the harsh glow of Nazi-installed lights. The Winged Victory of Samothrace, normally a symbol of triumph and grace, appeared as if it had been stripped of its very soul.

"How could they desecrate this sanctuary of culture and history?" Sophia had muttered in French gazing upon the statue. It was easy to observe that, Sophia's thoughts drifted to the tumultuous events that had befallen her beloved city. She had been born and raised in Paris, and the occupation had turned her world upside down. "I will not let them steal our heritage. Not without a fight."

"Sophia, I had to see it for myself." Isabella’s voice broke the silence in French —a voice that carried the weight of both defiance and sorrow. In fact, Isabella had been ordered by her Nazi connections to catalog any “worthwhile” materials of supernatural significance in the museum. Sophia turned to find Isabella standing at the bottom of the stairs. The two women had become close allies in their shared mission to protect art and history from the Nazis.

"Isabella, our beloved Louvre has seen better days." Sophia said with a sad smile in English.

"But it still stands, and so do we. We will not let them erase our cultures and history…" Isabella responded in Latin.

As they walked through the gallery together, the two women discussed their plans to safeguard priceless artifacts and documents from falling into Nazi hands. They spoke in hushed tones, aware of the ever-present danger.

Sophia had recruited Isabella as a double agent, working undercover for the Allies while maintaining her cover within Nazi ranks. Their alliance had deepened into an on and off passionate love affair, a connection that transcended the chaos of war and rooted in their intellects. Now, as Isabella prepared to depart for a meeting with the Resistance, their shared purpose became even more critical. Isabella gave Sophia a kiss on the back of the cheek and a long hug as the Frenchwoman slipped the coded message of where to rendezvous with their contact Aramis.

"We will be the guardians of history, Sophia, and it may not remember us from the shadows, but it will be ours." She whispered, the lingering warmth and softness of their cheeks touching.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of lightning illuminated the road ahead, revealing a roadblock manned by German soldiers. Panic seized Isabella's heart as she swerved the Delahaye to a screeching halt, the tires skidding dangerously on the rain-slicked pavement.

"Halt! Papers, please!" A German officer shouted auf Deutsch.

Isabella's mind raced. She had to think quickly. She reached into her hidden briefcase compartment and produced a specific set of forged identification papers, that of an aristocratic family sympathetic toward the Nazis, praying that they would pass inspection.

"Of course, officer. Here are my papers." Isabella feigned anxiety in a heavily French-accented German.

The German officer scrutinized the documents under the harsh glare of a flashlight, his eyes narrowing as he studied them.

"You are far from home, mademoiselle. What is your business on this road at this hour?" He looked at her and the expensive car she drove. She noted his scrutiny and added another layer to the story.

"I'm trying to reach my Onkle Burkhalter on the outskirts of Rouen.” She projected a little vulnerability and shifted her legs to reveal the top of a stocking. General Burkhalter of the Luftwaffe was known for his love of French women, but also for having a reputation of eliminating anyone that discussed such proclivities. Isabella’s lingering emphasis said enough to indicate that there was an eminent rendezvous that should not be noted in a mere roadblock report.

The officer hesitated for a moment before returning her forged papers.

"Very well, but you'd better hurry. The roads are not safe at night, especially in weather like this." He said gruffly and quickly.

Isabella breathed a silent sigh of relief as the officer waved her through the roadblock. Her heart pounded in her chest as she continued her journey, the rain drumming on the car's roof like a relentless reminder of the dangers that lurked in the darkness.

Finally, she reached the designated rendezvous point—a small, unassuming inn on the outskirts of Rouen. The inn's proprietor, a member of the Resistance, had agreed to facilitate the meeting with Aramis and a place to stay the night – that did not have to be a German general’s play palace.

Isabella parked the Delahaye in the inn's courtyard, the rain still pouring down in torrents. She clutched the briefcase tightly, her nerves on edge as she scanned the surroundings for any sign of danger, then entered the establishment to wait.

[OOC: A bit atmosphere.]

{Isabella}

She sat at a secluded table in the shadows of the inn’s brasserie sipping absinthe. Isabella had been there for nearly an hour – fortunately the digestive was expected to be had at a leisurely pace, so it aroused little suspicions. Aramis was late and she had a bad feeling. The blonde woman glanced towards a sympathetic innkeeper behind the bar, who merely shrugged not having an answer. Playing with the small amulet about her neck, she took another sip of the green faerie – and her mind slipped back two years prior.

A Nazi stronghold hidden amidst the towering peaks of the Austrian Alps. The cold stone walls were covered in a thick layer of frost, and the room's atmosphere was heavy with tension.

Seated at an ornate wooden table, Isabella wore a guise of icy resolve, her expression unreadable behind a mask of stoicism. Across from her sat SS-Standartenführer Ernst Müller, his uniform immaculate, and his demeanor chillingly composed.

"Miss Schneider, I have news that may interest you." Müller coldly started.

Isabella's heart quickened, and a chill ran down her spine. She had come to expect the unexpected when dealing with the SS, of which there had been many times, but the Nazi officer's ominous tone sent shivers through her.

"And what news might that be, Herr Müller?"

"Your sister,” he paused with a calculated emphasis, “Elsa Schneider, was involved in a secret expedition on behalf of the Third Reich."

Isabella's heart skipped a beat at the mention of her twin sister's name. Elsa, a brilliant student of the past like herself, had strayed down a path of darkness, entangled with the Nazis in a desperate bid to achieve power. Isabella had always held out hope that she could somehow save her sister from the clutches of the enemy.

"Elsa? What could she possibly be involved in?" Isabella feigned surprise.

Müller leaned in, his voice dripping with malice. "Your sister was on an expedition to recover an artifact of immense power. She believed it could lead to our ultimate conquests.”

Isabella fought to maintain her composure, her fingers gripping the edge of the table beneath her. The room seemed to close in around her, the air thick with the acrid scent of tension and deceit. Müller's lips curled into a sinister smile, and he leaned back in his chair, savoring the moment.

"I regret to inform you that your sister's expedition met with an unfortunate accident. She did not survive."

Isabella's heart shattered at the cruel revelation, but she had to play her part convincingly in order to survive.

"No... Elsa, she was all I had left." Her voice quivered. Tears welled up in her eyes as she lowered her head, her hands trembling with the weight of her act. She had to make Müller believe that Elsa's death had devastated her, even as her true feelings remained locked deep within.

"I thought you might react this way. It's a shame, Miss Schneider. She could have been a valuable asset to our cause. However, unser Führer does not like to lose assets. That is why you have been brought here. You share your sister’s visage. Your education and your family‘s historic...experiences…compel you to fill her role in Das Drittes Reich. You will maintain your independence, of course, until called upon. And you will be richly rewarded. But there are many ways that you will help our efforts. You shall be contacted. That is all, fraulein Isabella.”

Isabella nodded, struggling to maintain her facade. Inside, she seethed with anger and sorrow, mourning not only her sister but also the choices that had led Elsa down a path of darkness. And now it was her path. She knew that she had to bide her time, continue the subterfuge of her own beliefs, and work from within to stop the Nazis from unleashing the malevolent forces they sought to control – just as her father had warned.

It was a dark memory. And further complicated by the temptations that she had experienced since that day through to her recruitment by the Allies after war had spread across Europe. Isabella had become a shadow in a world of treachery and moral ambiguity, her allegiance shrouded in secrecy, her resolve strengthened by the haunting memory of Elsa.

The glass slipped from her hand and hit the table hard on the table. A few took notice, then returned to their own drinks. **La Fee Verte…indeed.** Isabella touched the amulet and said a few words – it immediately cleared her head. But, her time here was done. She left payment in francs and marks on the table, and feigned stumbling out. The innkeeper stopped one drunk villager from following her outside with a warning finger.

The storm had lessened slightly, enough for Isabella to get back in the sports car and focus.

**A rendezvous would still be scheduled…if there were survivors** She thought. Obviously, something had gone wrong – but she had a hunch someone was still out there. Isabella removed the amulet and placed it around the rearview mirror to let it hang down. Her hands moved in a brief rhythmic pattern around the dark metal object – just as they had done as teens after discovering it and saving Elsa from her first brush with death.

“Elsa…show me.” The amulet moved slightly. The engine revved and Delahaye followed that direction.