Paris, July 1799 - Imbalance

----------------------------------------- Paris, Tuilerien, July 1799 -------

"I feel naked."

Adeláire's voice was no more than a whisper as she crossed at Arno's arm the few steps from the carriage to the entrance of Joséphines and Napoléon's Town hall. A warm hand lay over hers on his arm.

"I am also sorry, that courtly ball clothes for ladies does not provide any opportunity to hide weapons." His voice whispered softly, so as not to be worn on false ears. Adeláire only gave a muttered reply as an acknowledgement for the amused undertone. Enviously, she looked at Arno, who was walking with a tightened attitude, as if he naturally belonged here.



Verne had not exaggerated, the elegantly tailored suit of midnight blue brocade was really up to date. And she had to recklessly acknowledge that Arno simply made a fabulous figure in it. His family background and education made it easy for him to move in these robes as in a second skin. Quite unlike herself. She had to be careful not to step on her skirt hem. She guessed she would not be much better at dancing.

"Don’t wriggle around like that. Otherwise someone will be suspicious", Arno whispered softly in her direction. His hand embraced hers tightly, before he let his left arm drop to the side. The sleeve, which hid its hidden blade, bulged only slightly. Once again, Envy flashed in Adeláire.

Her arms were actually naked, not only because they lacked the blade. But to wear a long-sleeved dress on such a mild June evening would not have been appropriate to morals. Not even that of a ball. So she had opted for a shoulder and arm free variation of dress. The blue of the dress corresponded almost perfectly with Arno's suit and the usual playful frills and loops in silver tones rounded off the elegant picture.

Arno gave the servant at the entrance the invitation which Verne, Francesco, and LaHache had "organized". Only a brief glance was given to the card and the correct crest, before the servant bowed saluting for a moment.

"Une belle soirée Monsieur et Madame", it came from the servant courteously before he gave them the way.

With a certain discomfort between her shoulder blades, Adeláire's fingers clenched briefly in Arnos's Arm. What was again answered, as before, with a soothing gesture. He guided her unerringly in the direction, from which music sounded. For a first overview of the guests a mix among the crowd appeared as the best idea. Unobtrusively Adeláire breathed softly, as she no longer felt so exposed. Gratefully, she accepted a servant's offer and clung to a glass of champagne. Arno did the same, and at the same time let his gaze glide over the crowds.

"Guards at the inputs and outputs, though not in uniform. The servants are not particularly attentive to the guests and take care of their duties. So far no one who could recognize someone from us. However, plenty of political heavyweight. Strange..." Arno murmured his observations just so loud that only Adeláire could perceive them. She sipped her champagne and followed his gaze.

"What do you think that means?" Arno turned around his axis briefly to take a look over the room behind them. A short, painful hiss made him record this as a stupid idea. Adeláire looked at him briefly, which he acknowledged with a soothing smile.

"I’m good. Just didn’t think about it for a moment." Without a word, she frowned briefly before she glanced back at the audience.

Arno was right, there were indeed some political heavyweights among the guests. As far as she could interpret, members of the Council of the 500 and militarily high-ranking decision-makers. What were such characters doing on a ball like this? Joséphine apparently assumed a higher social and political position than it appeared to the outside and which was aware of the commonalty. At least insofar as it related to Adeláire. However, she had never really dealt intensively with the woman on Bonaparte's side. A mistake she might correct.

Arno finally indicates her, that they should go on exploring the house. Adeláire nodded inconspicuously and slowly sauntering, they began to cross the room. When they had just left the room halfway behind, the music played for a dance. And even before they could fade themselves into one of the groups on the edge of the dance floor area, others had decided that Arno and Adeláire were perfect for a dance round.

The clock condensed to an An Dro, and quickly the room cleared into two rows, on the one side the men's, the opposite of those the women. Adeláire sighed softly while Arno smiled encouragingly. She had guessed that she would not come around to dance this evening, but silently hoped. And she had to confess, that Arnos natural elegance, with which he now folded his arms on his back and bowed in her direction, gave the whole something pleasant. Adeláire got everything out of from her inner nonchalantly, which she was able to find and sank in response into a small, elegant curtsey.

The skirts of the ladies rustled in the pleasant sound of the music and like steady waves, the dancing lines moved toward and away from each other. Adeláire could not help but observe her dance partner and to find in his movements everything that made his combat style so unique. The fact, that strong bandages under his suit supported a still restricting wound, couldn’t be recognized in any way. As soon as they were be close in dance, so that she could sank into brown eyes and enjoyed the delicate touch of lips on the back of her hand, the dance drove them already apart again.

Adeláire clearly sensed his watching eyes, as the ladies' row strolling and flirtatiously round-dancing around the subdivided men. Back at Arno, her spine was close to his, before the dance steps led her around him. It didn’t belong to the usual choreography, but she didn’t care at that moment. He held his hands, fully committed to the dance, still clasped in the back. Still, he replied the pressure of her hand in his and his breath went deep as she circled him and snuggled briefly to his chest. His dark eyes sank into hers, and only a whiff his chin tilted down at her.

She smiled sassy and followed the tradition of the dance steps, broke away from him and joined the line of the other ladies. His gaze conveyed quite clearly, which "term of endearment" shot thru his mind at that moment. With an amused, playful smile she went, together with the other ladies, into a light dance curtsey before the music pushed the dance steps.

When the An Dro ended, Arno lends her a hand, pulling her directly from the closing curtsey into his arms, while the dance formation around them began to dissolve. He whiffed his chin again gently against her, that it Adeláire almost frightened, whether he really wanted to kiss her in public. But he just smiled down at her and pinched her painfully into the side.

"You can sometimes be quite a beast...", it whispered softly to her ear. Adeláire stop herself from giving a sound and him the satisfaction.

"Some opportunities should not be left unused," she merely replied softly, laughing. Briefly lascivious fingertips played over his chest, before she coquettishly pushed him away. With a sweet smile, she turned away and took two glasses of champagne from a servant. Arno glanced at her, as if he preferably wanted to put her across his knees at the moment, which made her laugh silently again inwardly.


Before they could be involved in a dance again, they mingled with the crowd and began an inconspicuous stroll through the rooms where the guests gathered. At the same time, they were trying to identify which servants were guards, and which are not. Obviously Joséphine had instructed the guards not to disturb the ball with uniforms. Thanks to their two senses, they could nevertheless make up the weapons among the civilian vestments.

Arno finally pointed unobtrusively upwards a staircase. After all, the climbing of facades was definitely denied today, so they had to look for "official" paths through Bonaparte's house. Adeláire nodded gently, glancing around. For the moment there was no servant, whether real or not. But just as they were about to climb the first steps of the staircase, Arno pressed her against the wall and snuggled, with a "schh" at her ear, his cheek against hers. At first amused Adeláire played with, until she spread her senses and noticed the two guards, camouflaged as servants, in Arno's back.

Obviously the distraction maneuver had fulfilled its purpose. The guards simply gave them a brief look, then discreetly continue their way. As a result, Arno broke a little from her and glanced over his shoulder.

"That was almost a little too tight," Adeláire whispered softly. Arno simply nodded.

"We should quickly go on the search. Who knows when they will come back", spoke and strove with reaching steps up the stairs. Adeláire sighed softly, cursed her gown, and took off her skirts, in order to be able to do it rudimentary likewise to him at least.

When they reached the top of the stairs, they stopped briefly at the landing and spread out their senses. Arno closed his eyes and finally turned his head slightly to top right.

"We need to go up another floor. Hide and wait here until I've eliminated the guards." Adeláire frowned briefly. But Arno was right, in her ball dress she couldn’t possibly remain covertly undetected. It was easy for him in his suit.

As if to confirm her thoughts, Arno went into a slight squat, breathed a little painfully, and held his side before he sneaked up the next flight of stairs. Adeláire knew that she didn’t have to remind him of the >do not kill< devise. Dead in Bonaparte's private House would definitely be worth a report that would reach Napoléon. Adeláire looked around searchingly and found an isolated room in which she hid so long. A low whistle finally signaled her, that she could follow Arno.

When she reached the top, he waited in the shadow of a grandfather's clock and broke away from it as she left the last step behind. He went ahead and crossed a lavishly decorated vestibule to get into the sleeping room behind. It seemed as if everything had been prepared for the night. No servant far and wide, who was waiting for the return of her mistress. Should they actually have such outrageous luck and be able to look around in all peace of mind? Adeláire hardly dared to hope.

Arno retarded his steps in the middle of the room and Adeláire felt the tingling in her neck again. Slowly he turned around his axis and explored every corner of the room to see if something obvious appeared anywhere. But apparently luck left them here.

"Well, he has not used the same mechanism as the good Louis. I can’t locate a switch or secret compartment." Arno's voice sounded thoughtful while he looked around with a normal view in the room. Adeláire did the same, and finally her forehead frowned gently.

"Are you sure that this space is used by Bonaparte?" Purposeful she contributed toward a chiseled sideboard with a large mirror above.

"Hm, why do you ask?" Adeláire smiled softly as she pulled up drawers and closed them again.

"Because everything in this room belongs to a lady." She turned to the closet, which was used for clothes. When she opened the doors, her suspicions were confirmed.

"Look, women's attire. Not a single uniform. Apparently, Napoléon and Joséphine tend to keep separate beds." Arno stepped behind her and studied the interior of the wardrobe.

"Well maybe Bonaparte snores. Who knows?" Adeláire laughed softly and closed the doors. Arno turned away and seemed to think.

"Well, if this room is not, then it must be one of the others up here. We have no choice but to look one by one. Let's just hope that none of the guards, which are divided for the lower floors, get strayed up here." Adeláire nodded silently and turned to the sideboard next to the bed. For some reason, she still wanted to search this room before they left him.

From the last drawer, she finally pulled out a book bound in the finest leather. She let her fingertips glide over it and something tugged at her nerves. She turned and turned it, but couldn’t find anything unusual.

"Adeláire? Are you coming?" She turned to him, her gaze still resting on the book.

"Look at this. I don’t know. There's something… odd… about this book." Arno raised the eyebrows briefly before he approached her. He weighed the book in his hand as he received it from her. First slowly, then hastily he scrolled through it.

"This seems to be Joséphine's diary. General descriptions of boring days, in her words. What it’s odd for you? "Adeláire wrapped her arms around her waist and raised her shoulders.

"I don’t know either. It feels kind of strange. Don’t you feel it?" Arno looked at her intensively before again, this time slower, turned back and forth in the book. Finally, she could see that he was using his senses and suddenly breathed deeply, held his breath, and ejected him with a whistle.

“What?”

"Secret code. The kind of cipher I saw last time in the Bastille." Adeláire eyed Arno confused.

"And what does that mean?" Arnos view sought and found hers. Deadly seriousness had entered his brown eyes.

"That our good Joséphine either has special senses or… someone who has access to her diary." Arno looked at the book briefly and finally turned to one of the candlesticks. He held the open pages carefully into the light, and Adeláire saw the characters glimmer. "Light sensitive ink, as in Saint-Denis. What raises the question as to which senses these characters should find." Arno merely muttered to himself, while Adeláire tried to bring the connections into a picture. Thoughtfully, she began to wander up and down the room.

"I do not quite understand what it all means. A diary is highly private. Even if I have to admit, hiding it in the bottom drawer is not exactly the safest way to protect it again access. Who should gain access, and above all, why?" She paused and fixed Arno, who was concentrating on the book. "And if she has our senses, what does that mean for us? Is she an Assassin of which we know nothing?" Arno raised his eyes briefly and an amused smile flicked around his mouth.

"This... ability... is not confined to Assassins Adeláire. I met Templars, especially one, who had these senses as well, and who could use them appropriately." Arno's gaze wandered into the past, before he pulled himself together and returned to the now. "I don’t know what it could mean. But I know that these secret messages show the way here in the house to something... hidden. And if we want to find it today, we should hurry.” Adeláire's head swirled, but she nodded silently to his statements.

"All right then. Call the shots." Arno scrolled through the book and finally turned to one of the pictures in the room. He lifted it a little from the wall, sliding his fingertips over the structure of the wall-covering. A very low clack showed that he had probably found the hidden button. His dark eyes wandered back to Adeláire.

"That was number one of seven." Adeláire straightened her shoulders.

"You're right, we should hurry." What Arno determined to leave the room and continue with the search on the story.

Behind five other paintings and grandfather clocks they found corresponding mechanisms. In the search for the last, they finally entered a bed chamber, which already aroused masculinity. Documents on the desk finally indicated that they were correct. Bonaparte and Joséphine apparently used to have separate sleeping rooms. Seeking Arno looked around and frowned.

"There should be a shield with a crest and swords. Behind him is the last mechanism." Adeláire also looked around searchingly. On the walls were paintings, but no shield. She slowly walked the walls to finally stop at the desk.

"Arno, look." He approached her attentively. "There seems to have been something else hanging on the wall. The outlines of the light shadows don’t match the picture." Arno stepped closer to the wall and slid his fingertips over the wall-covering. Cautiously, he lifted the picture and finally smiled gently.

"Hit it. Very good."

Again a quiet click and a panel snapped in the desk. Adeláire was so surprised at the first moment that she terrified retreated. There was only a single parchment under the panel. When Arno raised it to the light, he growled a low >Merde<. Silently, he handed the parchment to Adeláire, on which in squiggly signature emblazoned merely an >E<.

"How... what... That's impossible."

Arno frowned thoughtfully, trying desperately to form a picture of all this.

"She was faster. If there was something useful here, she took it away. The question is, how did she know we were looking for it? Besides the Council and the five of us, no one knows about the order." In Arno's voice a frustrated growling sounded.

"What about Paton?" Arno shook his head at her question.

"He is very grateful to the Assassins for his salvation. He would never deceive us. He also does not leave the sanctuary." Adeláire rubbed her aching forehead.

"Hm, but maybe he talked to someone who shouldn’t have heard it." Arno sighed softly.

"Anyway, we will not find anything here at all. Let's return the diary and then leave this illustrious event." The end of his sentence etched in her ears, and Adeláire was able to understand his frustration very well, as she felt quite similar.


Without incidents and without being caught in the Midnight Quadrille, they managed to get out of the Town hall. They settled call a carriage, which brought them to the Bridge to Île Saint-Louis. During the journey, each one of them hung their own thoughts. Adeláire took Arnos Arm again unasked, as they walked the last steps to the café across the bridge.

"You're an excellent dancer, by the way." She deliberately delayed her steps. The balmy night began to weave her magic, and somehow she could feel that Arno smiled down at her.
"You too." She smiled as well, and stopped in the middle of the bridge. She raised her eyes to him, while they turned to each other.

"Do you sometimes think about it, what if there were no Assassins, Pieces of Eden and all that? If all these complications had nothing to do with you and you could just lead a fine, normal life?"

The intense pain that flinched at her words through his features almost tore her heart, and she unreservedly regretted asking these questions. Gently, he laid a hand on her neck, his features filled with grief and melancholy, only brightened by a gently smile.

"Every day. And at night I dream of a peace which even men like my father, Monsieur de la Serre and Mirabeau were not capable of creating. How could I ever manage it? I once wanted nothing more in my life than with..." A hard swallow. "...Élise… to lead a life in peace between Assassin and Templar. And to raise our children in this knowledge and faith."

Adeláire held his gaze bravely. But she sensed how it was getting hot in her own. His eyes examined her features, as if he were looking for something in them. His hands finally gently enclosed her face and his gaze intensified in hers.

"She will always remain a part of me. Part of what has become my new credo. I can and will never force you to follow that… to follow me. But I will gladly welcome you at my side. If you believe that you’re able… and willing to do this..."

Adeláire didn’t know what to say to him. This was not a declaration of love. This was a revelation with what kind of man she had to deal with. Which way had shaped him and how possibly another could look like.

Silently, she finally caught his left hand and replied the gesture he had given her in the hospital just a few days ago. She held his gaze and let gentle lips touch the inside of his left wrist. A gentle smile brightened his features a little before he pulled her into his arms and just shared a quiet moment in the middle of the bridge over the Seine.

--------------------------------

They had agreed in advance that Arno and Adeláire would share their findings of the night at a joint breakfast with the others. Thus, the five Assassins found themselves in the normally reserved, and extremely rarely used, room in Café Théâtre and devoted themselves first to coffee and croissants. It was LaHache, who finally brought up the topic of the day.

"Well, then let us not die stupid. What did you find out."

Adeláire sat opposite Arno at the table, next to her Francesco and LaHache, Verne had taken a seat next to Arno. The latter set off his coffee, leaned his elbows on the table, and loosely clasped his hands. His gaze fixed on Adeláire, before he looked at his friends.

"Unfortunately not as much as we had hoped for. Everything important and usable seemed to have been brought to safety before our arrival. And the only thing left behind was a note from our Stranger >E<.”

Adeláire observed the reactions of her brothers. Verne pulled the eyebrows in surprise, before frowning. Francesco leaned back in his chair and seemed to want to continue to listen first. Only LaHache showed no appreciable reaction. Had he not yet fully understood the meaning?

"This means that this >E< isn’t just one step ahead, she also knows that we exist and after which we are on the search?" A meaningful gesture of silence followed Verne's brief summary. Arno merely nodded. "This is bad. Very bad."

"That must mean that someone has betrayed us. Or that this >E< has a damn good network and discovered us in exploring. I don’t like either of that conclusions." Francesco's emotions in his voice reflected the content of his words. And Adeláire could only agree with him.

"We all feel that way Cesco," it came from Arno in such a quiet voice that everyone in the room draw attentive.

"You sound like you've got an idea", it came questioningly from Verne. What prompted Arno to lay his arms on the table and to graze his fingertips over the grain of the wood.

"Hm, a very vague idea. And to be honest, I don’t know if it is worth the venture. Or if we should not just wait until Napoléon is back in France. Perhaps this time the direct way to him is more appropriate than our usual Assassin-Tactics. If this >E< is watching us, she seems to know very well what to look for. So maybe we should do something we would never do otherwise." A short, sad tension swept over Arno's features. "Maybe ... we should think like a Templar."

LaHache sucked in the air before he stopped and breathed out very slowly. His gaze crossed with Arnos. Both were silent. But unsaid swelled between them until Francesco audibly, like a reminder, cleared his throat.

"Actually not a bad idea. But we are not Templars. And I don’t currently know anyone who would even work with us as Élise did back then." Arno's leaning back on the chair and the confounding of his arms in front of his chest ignored Francesco. He now fully concentrated on the problem and passed over emotional entanglements.

"I personally think we should dare a last approach of our own kind before Napoléon returns. Say, find a way into the structures of the new country house. If the information we are looking for is not in the office and not in the town hall, then maybe they are already there. We should leave it untried in no case." There was a general silence on Francesco's reflections. Finally, it was Adeláire who rises to speak.

"What about the uniforms of the guards? Can’t we use them again to gain access? Like in the Town Hall, in and quickly out again?"

"I doubt that this tactic will work again. We do not know how far the network of this >E< reaches and works. But she must have been aware of our infiltration in the Town Hall. Otherwise she wouldn’t have, what we were looking for, put into safety. We need to think of a different approach." Verne's voice sounded as though he were thinking about exactly this problem parallel while he spoke.

LaHache reached across the table for coffee and fished a croissant out of the basket before he also took part.

"What if, when we introduce Adeláire into the household? As a servant or something. Women always need a lot of other women to pamper them." Unexpectedly, there applied once again thoughtful silence following this suggestion.

"Amazing but true, this is not such a bad idea LaHache", it came finally from Francesco. Jean grinned briefly at this statement.

"You are not the only one with intellect in your mind." What makes everyone else gently smirk.

"As a servant, I don’t come anywhere unimpeded. If I'm not being assigned to Joséphine, I might be screw up in the stables or the kitchen. This is a far too big risk and, in the worst case, a waste of time." Adeláire massaged her lower lip and thought further about this approach of an idea.

"Then we have to think about how we can introduce you further up the house hierarchy. If it were the French court the fitting equivalent would be like a court lady." Verne studied Adeláire thoughtfully.

"How about a ward which has lived abroad for a long time, and now that the Revolution in France is slowly coming to an End, wants to learn French customs? Adeláire knows little enough about courtly manners, to not attract attention here. And if Joséphine agrees, she will keep her close to her surroundings." Once again, thoughtful silence fell upon Francesco's suggestion. Arno frowned, while Verne interested eyed Adeláire. LaHache devoted himself to his croissant. He did not care which proposal was made. Main thing, he was allowed to take his ax with him.

"You know what Cesco, that could actually work," Verne finally pondered. "The question remains, how do we get the clean sold?"

Everyone seemed to indulge to their own considerations and tried to find a solution to the problem. It was LaHache again, who gave an idea.

"Can’t Paton fake us something? A letter from some unknown Noblemen. Perhaps an Italian? If Adeláire occasionally let flow in some Italian, it should fit."

Verne sank back in his chair and leaned his right arm over the backrest, while still looking thoughtfully at Adeláire.

"I don’t believe that Paton has such abilities. And I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t like to inaugurate more people outside of our circle. Call me paranoid, but who knows if there are not traitors in our own ranks again." Everyone in the room knew he was alluding to Bellec. No one commented.

"What about de Sade?" Questioning and astonished looks turned to Fran-cesco. He folded his arms in front of his chest before he spoke.

"The Marquis, as far as I know, still belongs to the Nobility. He had a seat in the Convention, although I am not sure that he still holds this. But his stand is sublime enough that he can explain connections with ease. What if he issues Adeláire a kind of Letter of Recommendation and requests Joséphine for teaching?"

Arnos expression was clearly dark, Vernes merely thoughtfully speculated. Before the latter could speak, Arno came before him.

"To negotiate with the Marquis means, to place your hand into the throat of the snake. He will demand a favor. And we all know we don’t like the kind of favour, that we owe to him then. I don’t think that's a good idea." Again, brief silence before Verne spoke.

"Your righteous indignation about the machinations and… preferences… of the Marquis in all due honor Arno, but we can’t afford such Resentments at the moment. Or do you know another Nobleman who could help us in this case?" Arno crossed his arms in front of his chest again and leaned back.

"Besides, we can assume that the Marquis appreciates the advantage, which he has on his side with an owed favor of an assassin, more than the one which could give him shared information with foreign people ears." Verne hesitated short. "At least, there is a relatively high possibility that this is so." Francesco nodded briefly, LaHache contained a reaction, and Adeláire put her entangled hands on the table.

"Well, that means we ask the Marquis for a Letter of Recommendation and I’m collecting all the clothes I can find to infiltrate Joséphine's household", Adeláire summed up. Verne nodded briefly. "Remains the question, how do I get in contact with you, should I have found something?" Before anyone could react, Arno broke his attitude and leaned forward.

"Wait, who said you're going alone?" Adeláire blinked at him confused.

"But, what else? You might look great in a suit, but in a dress? I don’t know..." Arno’s facial expressions darken at her words.

"Don’t be silly. You know exactly, that I didn’t mean something like that, but precisely that, what I said. You will not go there alone. Not without any protection from us." Adeláire felt anger rise in her. Her eyebrows tightened over her green eyes.

"Protection? Please, who the hell decides if I need protection or not? I'm not eight years old and don’t know what I'm doing. I’m a trained Assassin and don’t have to be patronized. You better don’t forget that… my friend…" Her voice sounded clearly edgy.

Slowly Arno rose from his chair and supported his hands on the table. There was anger in his eyes as well, and something else, something deeper going. He fixed her relentlessly.

"It is far from me to be patronize someone. Neither you, nor anyone else in this room. But it remains as it is. You're not doing this alone." Adeláire also rose from her chair and haughty looked down at him.

"Who should force me to do that? You? I don’t know when I should have given you such rights. And dare you to use the development of the last few weeks to tell me now what I can do and what not. If the only way to infiltrate the country house is, that I should go in there alone, then it is so. All that counts is the Mission."

Adeláire had to pull herself together to not shock wrecked to Arnos reaction. Furiously, his fist crashed onto the table and he straightened up, hands tightly clenched.

"No, the Devil! It’s not the mission that counts. Staying alive, that's what's worth more than anything else. And this is put at risk if you go there alone. Why don’t you want that to go into your thick head?”

With an insane, little thought Adeláire registered by the way, how silent the other Assassins were in the room. Verne had crossed his arms in front of his chest and seemed not to want to interfere with the dispute. Francesco was similar. Only LaHache's mimicry had turned darkly from the scene and almost aggressively pulled the last remains of his croissant apart. Adeláre crossed her arms in front of her chest and fixed Arno, who clearly glared at her with rage.

"Probably because my thick head is as stubborn as yours. I’ll execute this mission, for better or worse. There's just way too much at stake." Arno straightened and spread his arms in a desperate gesture.

"You really seem to want to die? How stupid and obstinately can one actually be, to not accept help if it’s necessary?" Enervated he rubbed his forehead. "The Hell, why do I always get involved with such kind of women?"

It was as if an ice bucket of water had poured over her. Adeláire sensed, how it gave her an deeply ugly sting to be compared so obviously with Élise. Anger boiled uncontrollably in her, and she knew, that she would certainly regret her next words.

"Who knows, you seem to have a certain type. But that should give you something to think about, instead of me. If you are only able to see Èlise in all women, it’s no wonder that you are blind to the character traits and essence of all others." Her voice sounded cutting and poisonous. Targeted to hurt and want to force her opponent to distance. She gave Verne a quick glance. "Let me know if you have considered something meaningful." Her glance briefly brushed again to Arno. "I need fresh air now."

She ignored the mixture of emotions in his facial expressions. She could clearly see anger and grief. But there was more. Things she didn’t know yet, which she could only guess. His arms hung almost weakly at his side, before he folded them again in front of his chest. The fast-blazing fire of rage in him, and the just as fast fizzling out, she no longer registered. Her defensively tightened back towards him spoke volumes, and hastily she went out into the streets. She hated it when someone hits her sore points. And she hated it even more, if someone did it, for whom she felt so much.

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