September 12th, 1942
Tendrils of smoke wafted through the office, enshrouding the old wooden shelves and furnishings in a veil of mystery. A curly-haired woman lounged on one of the two divans, occasionally hoisting a dainty from the platter in front of her to her mouth. A screeching operatic singer belted her melodrama over the radio nearby, and an open window allowed sounds of toils and grunting into the room.
The woman awaited her beloved, and distractedly puffed at a long cigarette holder. Her attire was no finery, but it was a clean skirt and blouse. Being favoured in a place like this made her none too quick to give up the few material luxuries she had. The old oaken door creaked open, and she looked up briefly.
Standing before her, was a blonde woman wearing the uniform of a collaborator. But whose circled rune her lapels bore mattered less, to the redhead, than the strained expression that enthralling blue eyes and pinned hair the colour of goddesses could not hide. Striding forward, the blonde's uniformed physique relaxed somewhat. The door closed, and her gloved hands came up in a staying motion.
"Anna," the blonde spoke first, and sat beside the reclining woman's legs. Her eyes looked to the ground, then she glanced up.
"My love, My Elsa, my-" Anna was hushed by a finger across her lips, and she sat up. Setting down her cigarette holder, she silently regarded the blonde's steel-blue uniform.
"Anna," the collaborator continued, "I just had a meeting with Councillor Lunde and the Kommanndant of every prison camp in Norway. They say construction efforts will step up, and many will be transferred."
Anna stared at her in disbelief, then looked down to their touching torsos.
"I guess that means the end of good times, eh?" she quipped.